Xwing: Betrayal
by Sherlock
Summary: Sequel to the novel X-wing: Ambush: The Rogues deal with past horrors, as well as a spy in their midst... Please review, as this work is still in progress and feedback is needed. There are about 117,000 words written to date!
1. Dramatis Personae

_This story was written for the sole purpose of entertainment. No copyright infringement or harm is intended. The characters you know are owned by George Lucas, all others are property of the Author, with the exception being those from Iris Bailey's short story "Retribution."._

_Do not replicate or post elsewhere without expressed written consent from the author_

**Dramatis Personae**

**Rogue Squadron  
**General Wedge Antilles (Human male from Corellia) Rogue Leader / One  
Colonel Tycho Celchu (Human male from Alderaan) Rogue Two  
Flight Officer Thras Nyl (Human male from Coruscant) Rogue Three  
Major Derek "Hobbie" Klivian (Human male from Ralltiir) Rogue Four

Major Wes Janson (Human male from Tanaab) Rogue Five  
Flight Officer Hepat Avaan (Sullustan male from Sullust) Rogue Six  
Flight Officer Varnestra (Mon Calamari female) Rogue Seven  
Flight Officer Ecla Idec (Human female from Knolstee) Rogue Eight

Captain Corran Horn (Human male from Corellia) Rogue Nine  
Lieutenant Ooryl Qyrgg (Gand male from Gand) Rogue Ten  
Lieutenant Myn Donos (Human male from Corellia) Rogue Eleven  
Lieutenant Inyri Forge (Human female from Kessel) Rogue Twelve

**R****ogue Squadron Support Personnel  
**Captain Nawara Ven (Twi'lek male from Ryloth) Rogue Executive Officer / Rogue Control  
Shi'dora (Twi'lek female from Ryloth) Chief Mechanic  
Argh (Hobbie's R-2 astromech)  
Gate (Wedge's R-5 astromech)  
Marca (Tycho's R-5 astromech)  
Whistler (Corran's R-2 astromech)

**New Republic Military  
**Admiral Ackbar (Mon Calamari male) Commander in Chief of New Republic Military  
Major Ajene Tuvora (Human female from Contruum) Special Forces Team Leader  
Lieutenant Bren Auxil (Human male from Commenor) Special Forces Team Member

**New Republic Intelligence  
**General Airen Cracken (Human male from Contruum) Head of Intelligence

**Crew of the **_**Starlight**_**  
**Admiral Andel Fedra (Human male from Berchest)**  
**Commander Fon Slar (Human male from Commenor)

**Crew of the **_**Pulsar Skate**_**  
**Mirax Terrik Horn (Human female from Corellia)

**The Inexorables  
**General Selr Rozrrom (Human male from Corellia)**  
**Admiral Jarice Cright (Human male from Coruscant)**  
**Colonel Gherr Larrdin (Human male from Contruum)


	2. Prologue

**Prologue**

"_Wes!_"

Hobbie managed to crawl the distance separating them, his brain barely registering the pain from his broken wrist, even as he pressed his weight down on it. There was the distinct, sickening sound of bones grinding together, but he somehow managed to ignore that, too.

He reached his friend to find him unconscious, blood pouring from the smoking crater in the left side of his belly. Instinctively, Hobbie reached out and put pressure on the wound with his uninjured hand, trying to stem the flow of blood--but it stubbornly oozed out from between his fingers, warm and sticky.

Hobbie glanced up, staring at the end of the barrel of the blaster that had just felled Wes, before his gaze flicked to the traitor. "How could you betray us like this?" he asked, his voice anguished, laced with pain. He didn't really expect an answer, not sure he wanted one. Betrayal was nothing new to them, but this time, it was one of their own.

They had been betrayed by a Rogue.


	3. Chapter 1

_This story was written for the sole purpose of entertainment. No copyright infringement or harm is intended. The characters you know are owned by George Lucas, all others are property of the Author, with the exception being those from Iris Bailey's short story "Retribution."._

_Do not replicate or post elsewhere without expressed written consent from the author_

**Chapter One**

**Ten Standard Weeks Earlier**

"Cut left, Two. _Left!"_

Wedge Antilles, pilot, general, and leader of Rogue Squadron watched through his transparisteel canopy as a TIE fighter swung in behind his Rogue wingman, Rekdon Pinkar. But there was nothing Wedge could do to help him at that very moment, except shout a warning, because another TIE had his own X-wing in its crosshairs, pulsing wave after wave of green laser fire around and into his shields. Wedge threw his flight-stick to the right, stomping on an etheric rudder pedal, shoving his fighter into a violent flat spin.

"...he was just there..."

"...didn't see it coming..."

"...from starboard! _Look out_!"

"I'm hit, I'm--"

Increasing his concentration to a level that most pilots envied, Wedge filtered through, then mostly ignored, the voices on the comm. They overlapped, sometimes cut off in mid-scream, and he didn't need to think about how many pilots might be lost in this battle. He did absorb enough, however, to know that it wasn't going well for the New Republic forces. Their decreasing numbers, which his R-5 astromech scrolled across his secondary screen a moment later, confirmed that.

Coming out of the flat spin and still trying to evade the fire of the TIE doggedly following him, he headed in the general direction of Pinkar, Rogue Two. "Gate, red light on number three. See what you can do with the regulator," Wedge ordered his astromech. The power to his number three engine was fluctuating wildly, ranging from thirty to seventy percent thrust without him even touching the throttle. The only good thing about that was it was throwing his line of flight off just enough to keep the TIE from predicting his moves and getting a solid lock on him.

Even as Wedge completed that thought, the engine indicator light flicked from red to yellow, and the power flowing to the engine stabilized somewhat--enough for Wedge to at least gain more control of his craft. "Thanks, Gate," he grunted, inverting and diving straight at the TIE on Rogue Two's stern. "Two, this is Lead. I'm incoming with a TIE hot on my exhaust ports. Going to try and dispose of your tormentor as I make my pass. See what you can do with mine, then rejoin me. Confirm."

Rogue Two's reply was washed out in a sea of static, but Wedge thought he caught the word "critical" in there somewhere. As he barrel-rolled through the empty space between them, he asked Gate to pull a diagnostic from Twoee, Pinkar's droid. The information scrolled across his secondary screen in blood-red letters.

"Two, eject!" Wedge called, just as Pinkar's X-wing was engulfed by a flash of incandescent light. The tiny blue symbol representing Wedge's wingman disappeared from his screen.

"Damn it!" Wedge exclaimed, bouncing a fist off his thigh.

Without warning, the whine of his number three engine doubled in intensity, and sparks rained out of the panel holding the indicator light. "Gate, nearest Rogue. We need help."

* * * * * * *

Major Derek "Hobbie" Klivian was pushed back into his pilot's couch as the shockwave of an explosion rocked his X-wing. He wrestled the stick for control of his fighter as he rode through the glowing debris of the TIE that had just vaped Rogue Three. Although there was nothing he could have done to save Shra, the least Hobbie could do was secure some justice for his dead wingman.

"Four, you clear?" he heard a tense voice call over the Rogue frequency.

"Clear, Lead. Need some help?"

There was a strangled grunt before Wedge came back. "Uh, yeah. The sooner, the better."

"On my way," Hobbie replied, first locating Wedge on his scanner, then turning onto an intercept course. A quick check showed that Rogue Two was no longer showing on his tactical screen. "Ten seconds, Lead. Hang on."

There was a faint bang through the speakers, then Wedge was back on the comm, his strained voice nibbled by static. "Hurry, Four."

Hobbie skirted around the wreckage of a TIE Interceptor as it spun lazily out towards deeper space, then set his fighter on a straight line towards the X-wing with the smoke and sparks erupting from its number three engine, a TIE interceptor hot on its exhaust. The latter normally wouldn't have worried Hobbie too much, but Wedge's X-wing was obviously having problems manoeuvreing, and it was only a matter of time before the TIE got a solid lock on him.

Wedge was also without a wingmate to help cover him. Hobbie was alone now too, having lost Shra. Once he got this TIE off Wedge, assuming Wedge's X-wing was still flight-worthy, they would team-up and rejoin the battle. Hobbie felt a small twinge of guilt at that. Two pilots, his friends, had just lost their lives, and now he casually moved on to another wingmate. But he dismissed that thought as quickly as it arose; now was not the time to grieve for Shra or Pinkar. There would be many pilots lost today, and at this very moment, he had to make sure that Wedge wasn't among them--Shra was dead, but Wedge wasn't yet. "Falling in behind your pursuer now, Lead."

"Four...--gine...to...critical..." squawked over Hobbie's comm just as he swept his crosshairs over the persistent TIE. The more manoeuvreable fighter inverted, avoiding the crimson blaster fire from Hobbie's quad lasers. Although he didn't score any direct hits, at least it gave the enemy pilot something to think about besides shooting at Wedge.

"_Stang_, this one is good," Hobbie grumbled. He concentrated on the ball-like hull of the small fighter, suspended between the twin solar panels and ion engines that powered the ship. Within that ball was a pilot who was far better than most of the forces they had faced so far. Experience was a good teacher... "Come on, just sit still for a second..."

With his finger hovering over his yoke trigger, Hobbie glided back and forth, his heads-up-display flickering from green to yellow and back again, but never managing to get a solid lock. The TIE continually passed through his line of fire, but so quickly that he couldn't hope to get a shot off in time. "Lead, if you can hear me, pull him to your left."

There was no verbal response to confirm that Wedge heard him, but the general's fighter began a lazy drift to port, and the TIE couldn't resist the easy target. Concentrating solely on Wedge, the enemy pilot forgot about Hobbie for a valuable second, letting the veteran Rogue settle his crosshairs over the smaller fighter.

Hobbie's four laser canons discharged sheets of red energy into the unsuspecting TIE before it could line up its own shot on Wedge. It exploded in a brief burst of light and a noxious cloud of gases, then faded into the blackness of space.

"Lead, can you make it back to _S__tarlight_?" Hobbie asked.

Silence.

Hobbie tried again, this time on Wedge's private frequency. "Rogue Leader, can you make it back to _Starlight,_ or will you require assistance?"

Again, silence.

"_Starlight_, Rogue Leader is out of commission. Please send rescue shuttle to the following coordinates."


	4. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Wedge sat behind his desk, patiently sifting through datafiles of pilot candidates. Rogue Squadron was still three pilots short after the battle the week before with the forces of General Selr Rozrrom, a self-styled commander of a rag-tag group called the Inexorables.

The fleet the Rogues and three other squadrons had been staging from in their campaign against Rozrrom was heavily damaged in their last engagement with the pirate and his band of former Imperials and smugglers. Wedge had received a communication from Fleet Command telling him that it would be broken up and reformed. A new commander was being chosen to lead it, while Wedge would remain in charge of all fighter squadrons involved. But that was a concern parsecs away for the moment.

Since the fleet was still in the midst of coming together, and the Rogues were again short handed, they had been rotated back to Coruscant where his pilots where alternating between sim exercises, short escort missions, and downtime. While stuck on base, Wedge spent his time going through files of pilots to try and quickly fill the spots that were vacant. Although Wedge hadn't seen any evidence of it yet, he didn't want the Rogues getting too used to their current cushy assignment, so he wanted to get back to line duty as soon as possible. That meant finally choosing pilots.

There was no shortage of applicants, of course. The Rogues were an elite squadron, and requests for transfer to Wedge's unit came in every day. However, he felt very strongly that only a certain kind of pilot could join the Rogues, become a _rogue_. They were an extremely tight group, often thrown into impossible situations, given the hopeless missions, and more often than not completing them successfully. Even with their eclectic collection of characters, they still worked well together, a delicate balance that Wedge didn't want to upset for obvious reasons.

As he read through the files on his datapad, a static hologram of each pilot floated twenty centimeters above his desk. He scanned through the information on a Frozian pilot, glanced at the holo, then flicked to the next file. A human female from Corellia was next. He browsed the now-familiar information, his gaze quickly rising again to the holo, then moved on to the next file. He wasn't sure if it was appropriate for a squadron commander to rely mostly on his gut instinct when choosing pilots, but it seemed to have worked for him so far, so he kept with it.

A tone sounded, startling Wedge. He looked up at the door before shouting "Come!"

The door opened to reveal Colonel Tycho Celchu. He stepped just over the threshold, and stood at attention as the door eased closed behind him, holding a salute with only a slight smirk on his face. Wedge waived his second-in-command to a chair on the other side of his desk, then put his datapad on standby. The wavering holo-image of a Shistavanen male disappeared.

Wedge looked over at his friend and smiled as he took his seat. They had been good friends for a long time now; since just before the Battle of Endor. To Wedge, Tycho was a study in contrasts. With his short, light-brown hair, aristocratic features and cool professionalism, he often seemed distant and aloof; but Wedge knew that those attributes only hid the passion, loyalty, and dry sense of humor that made Tycho his most trusted friend and comrade. Wedge felt honored to be counted as a friend that Tycho could be himself with.

"So, how's it going?" Tycho asked, motioning to Wedge's datapad. "See anything you like?"

Wedge laughed. "You make it sound like a trip to the market. Hmm...I like that pilot. Wrap him up and I'll take him to go." Wedge said, a wide grin on his face.

Tycho smiled as well, creasing thin lines around his eyes. "Well, it is, in a way. You run through a menu and pick the items you like."

Wedge rolled his eyes. "I don't think I'd like to be thought of as an item on a menu, Tych." He reactivated his datapad and pulled up a list. With a deft flick, a holo of the list appeared between him and Tycho. "I've narrowed it down to ten possible candidates. All of them have excellent qualifications, abundant knowledge and experience."

"Ah, so it comes down to looks," Tycho said with a chuckle. "I knew it."

Wedge shook his head, grinning at Tycho. "If it did, you and I would have been retired long ago. I think by now you have a pretty good idea of what I look for, but the Force doesn't seem to be on my side." He tapped some keys on his datapad and the file of one of the candidates opened up. "This is Baladin Selan. She's an excellent pilot, but is also a Corellian. And I think there are enough of us wandering through the hangar as it is. Not to mention she's had some disciplinary issues in her past."

Tycho snorted, then smiled as Wedge looked at him around the holo. "Uh, anyone else?"

Wedge continued to look at him for another heartbeat before returning his attention to the files. "Cater Syngy, from Sulon. But according to the last update posted to his file, he's just taken a leave of absence."

"You're not having much luck, are you," Tycho said, almost completely serious.

Wedge held up a hand. "Just wait, it gets better. Blench Norich had nine years experience flying with, and then training, X-wing squadrons."

Tycho raised an eyebrow. "Buuuuut?"

"He just became 'pregnant' and was discharged." Wedge closed the list, and the holo winked out of existence.

Tycho shook his head and sighed. "Seems like _everyone_ is having kids these days."

Wedge looked up at his best friend with raised eyebrows. "Anything you and Winter want to tell me?"

Tycho reddened perceptively and shook his head adamantly. "Oh, no! I was thinking more about Gavin and his adoption of those two orphans. Winter and I hardly see enough of one another these days to have _that_ particular problem."

Wedge nodded. "I hope everything's going well for Gavin, but I'm looking forward to his return to the squadron. His six-month paternity absence can't be over soon enough to suit me. Although I think I know what you mean about it seeming like everyone but us is settling down." Wedge's thoughts drifted to his own romantic interest, Major Ajene Tuvora from New Republic Special Forces. She'd been sent off on a mission three weeks before, and he hadn't heard from her since. He missed her terribly and couldn't help but worry about her. Sometimes it seemed like everything and anything made him think of her.

Tycho seemed to catch the subtle change in Wedge's mood and moved to change the subject. "Is there anyone left on your list, Wedge? Or should I start enquiring on the black market right away about cloning cylinders?"

Wedge's smile returned. "Well, there are five left on the short list, but more by attrition than anything else. And why aren't you helping, hmm? Shouldn't a good second-in-command be helping me with this? Giving me options, advice, supplying a good cup of caf?"

"Well, I don't have any caf…" Tycho pulled a datacard from one of his many pockets and waved it through the air. "But now that you mention it, I may have an option."

He handed the card to Wedge, who slipped it into a slot in his datapad. A hologram of a dark haired man in a black flightsuit sprang up between them, lines of text to the right of it. Wedge's eyes widened in disbelief as he recognized the man in the holo. He had seen various news articles about this particular pilot, and his capture. Thras Nyl's TIE was disabled and seized at the tail end of the Thrawn Crisis, and he was taken prisoner by the New Republic. Wedge knew he'd been interrogated for quite a while, for information about the remnants of the Empire, but there'd been no other news reports about him after that. Wedge assumed he'd been imprisoned permanently, or more likely exchanged back to the Empire for New Republic prisoners. So why was Tycho bringing him up now? Unless...

"They've got to be kidding!"

Tycho shook his head slowly. "Nope. Nawara received the transfer request from Starfighter Command this morning."

"I can't believe that Thras Nyl thinks I would let him transfer to Rogue Squadron! To _any_ squadron!"

"You've taken in ex-Imperials before, Wedge," Tycho answered with a shrug. "Me, for example. Hobbie another. Even Han Solo attended the Academy."

"Yeah, but..." Tycho raised an eyebrow and Wedge let his argument end there. "Okay, so there are a few ex-Imps running around, most notably you and Hobbie. But this is different. You both _chose_ to come over to the Alliance, and Han turned smuggler. Nyl was shot down and captured, so why isn't he a prisoner of war?!"

"The New Republic must have its reasons, Wedge. And he's a hot hand on the stick," Tycho added, pointing up at the file information beside Thras Nyl's impassive face. "You'll see that his scores in sim are well above what we usually consider a minimum, especially when you consider that he'd never flown New Republic fighters before a year ago. I really think you ought to consider him for one of the three open spots."

Wedge's eyes narrowed as he looked closely at Tycho. He recognized the tone in his voice, the determined look around his eyes, the firm set of his jaw. He'd heard and seen it countless times before, but still had to put up a fight, at least for show. "I don't know..."

Tycho shrugged slightly as he leaned back in his chair, never breaking eye contact with his commander. "You said you needed pilots, first-rate ones, so I'm giving you an option, as any good second should."

Wedge glared as Tycho threw his own words back at him, but then rolled his eyes and gestured in defeat. "Oh, all right. I'll add him to the short list and review his file. But if I don't like what I see, the answer's no. Understood?"

Tycho grinned. "That was easier than I thought. You must be getting soft in your old age."

Wedge pointed at the door. "Out!"

"My, you are sensitive since you turned thirty," Tycho retorted, getting to his feet. "I mean, I'm thirty too and--"

_"Out!"_ Wedge bellowed again, rising to his feet, fists planted on the surface of his desk.

"I'm going, I'm going," Tycho said as he backpedaled towards the door, grinning.

* * * * * * *

Wedge played less than enthusiastically with the Corellian stew on his plate, pushing it around and then into neat little piles, making sure they were exactly the same number of centimeters apart.

He had been holed up in his office for the entire morning and a good deal of the afternoon, going over files and lists with nothing but strong caf to sustain him. After his fifth cup, it quickly became evident that he required food if he wanted to get through the rest of his work.

He glanced around the mess hall of Sivantlie, one of the many bases on Coruscant, and watched as a handful of military personnel milled around the room. Since it was mid-afternoon, the hall was practically empty, being between the lunch and dinner rushes. It suited him fine that way. He was feeling a bit glum and wanted just a few minutes of peace and quiet, away from his endless data-work.

"Hey, Boss!"

Wedge closed his eyes briefly. _Well, so much for the peace and quiet._ "Hey, Wes."

"Mind if I join you?" Wes Janson smiled, the wide, easy grin that sometimes seemed to be permanently affixed to his face. Like Wedge, he wore the loose-fitting pilot's day uniform, festooned with pockets and baggy in most places. His hair was wet and Wedge assumed he'd come from the showers. He had a cup of steaming caf in one hand, a gooey-looking pastry in the other.

"Sure," Wedge replied, moving himself and his tray aside to make room for him. "I thought you were running sims with Corran and Hobbie?"

"That was this morning," Wes snorted. "You really ought to get out of your office more often, Wedge. Time actually passes out here."

"I suppose." Wedge stared into his glass of Rakrir fruit juice.

"What's the matter, Wedge? You miss Ajene? You haven't been quite yourself this last little while."

He looked up at Wes with a raised eyebrow. "If I'm not me, then just who am I?"

"Hey, you're the straight man and _I'm_ the comedian around here," Wes retorted.

Wedge sighed, then swallowed the last of his juice. It was always the same with Wes. He placed the empty glass on his tray, and turned towards his major to see him grinning from ear to ear. "Now what are you smiling about?"

Wes's grin grew wider still., all teeth and glee "I know something you don't know," he sang tunelessly.

"What?" Wedge followed Wes's gaze across the room to the entrance. Framed in the doorway was a red-headed woman, wearing a green uniform, with a blaster tied low on her right hip. She was searching the faces in the room, and when her eyes met his, Wedge felt his heart start to thud in his chest.

"Bye, Wedge," Wes said, but his commander hardly heard his comment, already out of his seat and making his way across the room.

There were no words at first as they rushed into one another's arms. He kissed her fiercely, then pulled her close for a hug, his hands running up and down her back as he did. Once upon a time he would have shrunk from such a public display of affection, but in the last few months he had learned that life was unpredictable and precious, and you had to enjoy every moment you could, while you had it.

At this particular moment, he reveled in the feel of her body pressed against his. He knew that he had missed her, but when he'd come back to Coruscant and she wasn't there, he'd discovered a huge a void in his life. He was usually the one off on assignment, leaving _her_ alone, and was too busy planning, flying and surviving to dwell on their separation. When he was sitting around Sivantlie base with nothing to do, on the other hand, it was a different case altogether. He found he missed her terribly, and was miserable without her.

But he didn't have to be miserable anymore. He pulled back a little and kissed her on the forehead. "You have no idea how much I missed you," he said, staring into her emerald eyes.

"At least as much as I missed you, I hope," she replied, long fingers tracing down the side of his face, before letting her hand fall to find his. She tugged, and he let her lead him out of the cafeteria and down the long corridor, knowing where they were going, and not resisting her in the slightest. "Been up to anything interesting?" she asked, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

"The fleet went up against Rozrrom again. We lost a Mon Cal cruiser and thirteen pilots this time." Wedge paused, clearing his throat. "I lost three Rogues. Been trying to find some replacements for them," he added, trying to keep the gloom from his voice. She caught it anyway, stopping and turning to face him.

"Wedge, I'm sorry. Who...who did you lose?" she asked hesitantly.

"Shra, Zrrood and Pinkar."

Ajene gasped at the mention of Rekdon Pinkar, Wedge's wingman. "I'm sorry Wedge...I had no idea."

"It's okay. How could you know?" He stared at the floor, avoiding her concerned gaze. It was always hard on him when he lost pilots, but especially so when it was his own wingman. He usually didn't get too close to the new pilots for a while when they first joined his group, but Rekdon had been different. The role of a wingman was one that required trust, so he couldn't help but know him better than some of the other new pilots under his command. And the whole reason for having a wingman was for him to help protect you, and you him. For a pilot to lose his wingmate frequently left the survivor feeling somewhat like a guilty failure. It was made even more painful by the fact that Wedge, as a general rule, made the weakest of his pilots his wingman, so he could watch out for them, give them any extra training they may need. He'd now failed completely at that, and maybe it was time to reconsider his personal rule.

Wedge made a move to change the subject as they entered a lift car for the short ride down four levels. "And I know better than to ask what you've been up to the last three weeks."

She only smirked at him. They reached the desired floor and headed down another hallway, stopping in front of the door to his quarters. He keyed in the code, and she pulled him through the door. He wouldn't be looking at any more data-files today.


	5. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The images swam in and out of focus, so dizzying that Wedge couldn't make out anything clearly. He was disoriented by his surroundings, unable to concentrate, but he distinctly saw the glint of light from the steel of a blade, moving slowly towards him. At the sight of that blade, he knew something horrific was about to happen. Gripped with an intense and insistent primal fear, he screamed--

Wedge sat up in bed, droplets of sweat running down his forehead, stinging his eyes. He realized that he was holding his breath, and suddenly gasped for air, swiping at the sweat on his face as Ajene sat up beside him.

"Wedge...what is it?" she asked quietly. He took a few moments to catch his breath, and felt her arms enfold him in a hug, reassured somewhat by the warmth of her skin against his. "What is it?" she repeated, her mouth close to his right ear.

"I...I had a nightmare," he managed to stammer, still unsettled. His throat felt rough. Had he screamed out loud?

"I thought they'd stopped," she said, tightening her hold on him. "You haven't had one in a little while."

"I thought so, too. But I--I guess not." He finally managed to slow his breathing, and Ajene released him. He crossed his legs and leaned his elbows on his knees, hands pushing back to find that his hair was damp.

Ajene shuffled forward a little and turned to sit facing him. "What's the matter? Something must have happened to trigger it."

Wedge shook his head. It had been about five months since he'd been rescued from the clutches of Moff Lathel Tchlinda. She had tortured him nearly to death several times during his five days of captivity, and he'd actually been clinically dead and revived twice. The Rogues, as well as two cruisers from Thyferra, Elscol Loro's band of rebels, and two members of Wraith Group had risked quite a bit to put a rescue plan into motion. They'd taken on Tchlinda, her Star Destroyer _Querulous,_ and a second Star Destroyer borrowed from another Imperial fleet. When the rescue force finally did reach Wedge, he was as close to death as he ever wanted to get. Only the loyalty, dedication and selflessness of his friends had saved him, with the fortunate byproduct of freeing the planet from the evil clutches of an Imperial madwoman.

The entire harrowing experience had left him physically weakened for a while, but it had also left emotional scars that he hadn't expected, one of which was the nightmares. But he hadn't had one in several weeks.

"Nothing's the matter," Wedge bluffed as he thought back through his day, trying to think of something that might have set him off. A face... A hologram of a face... He had it: the discussion with Tycho about Thras Nyl. He knew that the thought of having Nyl in his squadron had left him uneasy, but not to this extent.

Ajene studied him for a moment. "You know what it is, you just won't tell me." She tried to mask the hurt in her voice, but it still peeked through. Wedge reacted instinctively to that hurt, taking her left hand.

"There's nothing wrong, really." He sighed before continuing. "I had a talk with Tycho today about new pilots. He wants to accept Thras Nyl's transfer to the Rogues, and I'm thinking maybe it bothered me a little more than I'd thought."

Ajene looked thoughtfully at him. "I know that name... From somewhere... Wait, he's the Imperial that was captured nearly a year ago. At Bilbringi?" Wedge just nodded. "And you think he doesn't belong with the Rogues?"

He looked at her in the shadows, an exquisite vision he had imagined and longed to see hundreds of times while she was gone. "Why would I? He's an Imperial, through and through. Probably the only reason he's on our side now is because we shot him down. He probably figured he could avoid prison by saying he'd always wanted to defect to our side, or traded information for his freedom. I wouldn't trust him as a pilot, and certainly not as a Rogue." His head bowed slightly. "I've unknowingly brought spies into my squadrons before, and I won't let that happen again."

She let out a long breath before resting her free hand on his knee. "If you aren't going to let him into the Rogues, why are you worrying about it?"

Wedge couldn't meet her eyes. "Because he's an excellent pilot and I have no reason to refuse him other than he's ex-Imp."

"So you're saying that you'll have to take him in, even though you don't _want _to?"

Wedge sucked in a deep breath, then blew it out as he nodded. "He out-performs the other pilots on my short list as far as skill and even combat experience is concerned. And Tycho's made his opinion quite clear; he thinks we should take him because there're lots of ex-Imps running around the New Republic, and that someone just has to give him a chance."

He still hadn't met her eyes yet, but there was another audible sigh. "And you don't want to be that someone, right?"

"If it was only myself at risk, I'd say yes. But I have to think of the rest of my pilots, not to mention the three other squadrons and capitol ships we're flying with."

"There's no proof that he's anything more than a pilot looking for a place to fit in," Ajene said quietly, ducking her head enough to look into his eyes. "I mean, he must've been cleared by Starfighter Command or they would never let him anywhere near an active squadron, never mind the Rogues, and you know that. And Tycho would never endanger the Rogues, either. Don't you trust Tycho?"

"Of course I do," Wedge blurted, before continuing more softly. "There's no one I trust more. Except... maybe you."

Ajene's lips quirked up into a tight smile before sobering again. "You know, it sounds to me like you don't place a lot of value in Tycho's opinion at all."

"If I didn't, I would have dismissed the idea outright, without any consideration," Wedge said in his own defense. He wasn't sure he liked where Ajene was directing the conversation.

"But you've just admitted to me that the only reason you didn't reject it was because of Nyl's qualifications, and you had no other grounds to dismiss him other than the fact that he was a TIE pilot. You didn't mention anything about Tycho's opinion affecting your decision."

"No, I didn't," Wedge reluctantly admitted.

"So I ask again--why don't you want to let Thras Nyl into the Rogues?"

Wedge shook his head vehemently. "How can I take the chance that he may be a spy or sell us out to the Empire in order to get back to them?" he said, again not wanting to look her in the eye.

_Admit it , you just don't __want_ _to trust him._ He knew, deep down, that there couldn't be that much of a threat from Nyl or the New Republic would have locked him up, not even considering letting him fly for their side. And Wedge did place a high value on Tycho's opinion, no matter what Ajene was insinuating. But for some reason, he _couldn't_ trust Nyl. His recent experiences at the hands of Imperials had taught him one thing: the Imperial Navy and most everyone in it was evil. Both his mind and gut were in agreement on that.

Ajene sighed yet again, and he looked up at her. She reached out and took both of his hands in hers, squeezing them. "Wedge, you know that I don't meddle with your squadron decisions, but I can't help feeling that you're letting past experiences color your perception of the situation. You're lumping all Imperials into one mold, making decisions based solely on feeling and not rational thought. I mean, what if someone reacted that way about Heblon? I know you'd be the first person to defend and support him."

Wedge had to smile at the mention of Tonar Heblon. The former Imperial Lieutenant was, as far as Wedge was concerned, a different case altogether. He hadn't wanted to become a career soldier, having joined the Imperial Navy in hopes of becoming a medic or doctor in the service, make a career for himself. In the end, he'd been forced to accept a commission and lead a stormtrooper squadron, serving on Moff Tchlinda's Star Destroyer. Admiral Osiel Turpa, commander of the _Querulous_, was aware of Heblon's medical background and had assigned him to keep Wedge alive, knowing full well that the Moff would inflict terrible injuries on him.

Heblon had been uncomfortable with his position and duties throughout his Imperial service, but when he saw how Wedge was treated by his captors, and how the prisoner reacted to that treatment, he risked himself to save Wedge. He contacted Elscol Loro and her group of rebels, even took a blaster bolt in the shoulder for Wedge during their escape. As if that wasn't enough, had the Imperial Lieutenant not been on the _Pulsar Skate_ when Wedge has gone into cardiac arrest, he would have died right there on the deck.

In gratitude for all the help and information that Heblon ended up supplying, General Cracken, Head of Intelligence, had arranged for Heblon to become a doctor on a New Republic medical frigate. Wedge, however, felt there was nothing he could do to ever repay him for what he had sacrificed.

"Heblon came over voluntarily, just like Tycho and Hobbie," Wedge answered sullenly, sensing that he had somehow lost the debate even before it had truly begun.

She frowned at his weak attempt to defend his position. "How do you know that Nyl didn't have New Republic sympathies before he was captured? Or if he planned to defect all along? Or saw the error of his ways?"

"You aren't going to let this go, are you?" he asked resignedly.

She gave his hands another firm squeeze. "I'm just voicing my opinion."

He leaned over and kissed her quickly on the lips. "You know how much your opinion matters to me. I missed it while you were gone."

"And I missed giving it." She released one of his hands and reached up to run her fingers through his still-damp hair while leaning over to kiss him back. His mind whirled as their lips met. All thoughts of Thras Nyl disappeared, submerged beneath rippling memories of moments shared with Ajene. As she broke the kiss and wrapped her arms around him in a hug, he was reminded yet again that he'd never really been able to openly admit how he felt about her. Sure, he had shown her how much he cared, how much she had become a part of his life, but still...

He'd missed her and worried about her since she'd gone off on her last mission, and Wedge realized just how much he really... He felt... _Well, not to put too fine a point on it, you love her._ Now he wanted to be sure to tell her how he felt, in case he didn't have the chance to later. He wanted to put his feelings into words; the words she was so patiently waiting to hear, the words he was waiting to say. He wanted to finally admit that he was in love with her; not only to her, but to himself, as well.

Wedge had a good idea that she was waiting for him to say it first. She knew that he was still learning to break down the wall that he had built around himself for protection and didn't want to put any undue pressure on him. There were obviously still many bricks in the wall, but it was up to him to work at chiseling them down, not her.

He pulled out of Ajene's embrace, looking earnestly into her eyes. He smiled at what he saw, at the understanding sparkling under her red lashes. "Ajene...I..." He struggled with his words for a moment, suddenly feeling more uncomfortable facing her than he ever had facing a roomful of Admirals or pilots. The corners of her mouth turned upwards slightly, encouraging as she tightened the grip on his hands. He took a deep breath and mentally re-plotted his course before trying again.

"Ajene, I want to say something to you, and I want you to know that no matter how it comes out, I really mean what I'm about to say, that it comes from the heart." She remained silent, nodding for him to continue. "While you were gone, I really missed you. I would wake up at night and... And when you weren't there, I would feel so empty... and alone. But I could still feel your presence with me." He paused, bringing her hand up towards his face. He turned it over, kissing the inside of her wrist, right on the pulse point, the rhythm of her life. She smiled reassuringly at him again. "After that, I thought...well...I wanted to tell you that...that I...uh...love you." _You sound like an _idiot_! _He felt his face flush and was glad that they sat in nighttime shadows.

Ajene's smile turned into a wide grin with his final words. She lurched forward, throwing her arms around his neck, kissing him fiercely on the mouth before pulling back. "I love you too, Wedge," she exploded breathlessly before they fell back onto the bed, a heap of intertwined arms and legs.

* * * * * * *

Later that same morning, at a marginally more decent hour, Wedge found himself in his office. He slouched back into his chair, behind his small and orderly desk, having just sent the orders to his superiors that would transfer three new pilots to his squadron. Subject to approval by Starfighter Command, the trio of pilots would be reporting to him within the week from their various locations, and their integration into the Rogues would begin. He just hoped that he'd made the right decisions.

With a resigned sigh, Wedge reached for his comlink, picking it up from where it sat beside his datapad. Twisting the end to the desired frequency, he thumbed the device on. "Antilles to Colonel Celchu."

"Go ahead," came the crackling reply.

"Can you meet me in my office?"

"On my way, General," Tycho responded. Wedge shut off the comlink and returned it to its place on his desk. He walked over to the alcove that housed an elderly caf maker, and picked up the carafe. He poured caf into two large mugs, displaying faded Rogue Squadron unit patches. By the time he returned to the desk with the two steaming cups, the chime of the door sounded.

"Come!"

"Tycho Celchu, reporting as ordered. Sir." Tycho crossed the room and stood at straight-backed attention just behind the chair opposite Wedge.

"Sit down, Tych," Wedge said, offering the second cup of caf to him with an easy smile. Since he had admitted to Ajene how he felt about her, Wedge had a hard time _not_ smiling. It was a very good feeling, and he wondered once again why he hadn't told her long before now.

"What's up?" Tycho asked between sips of caf, grimacing slightly. Tycho wasn't a fan of Wedge's caf, but he dutifully drank it anyway. Wedge always made his caf strong, meant to be a real eye-opener. With the amount of datawork he had these days, it needed to be.

"I just sent the order," he said as he handed Tycho his datapad.

His second glanced over the details, then up at Wedge. The colonel wore an expression that was part surprise, part concern. "Are you sure about this? I really didn't think you would go through with it after our conversation yesterday."

"No, I'm not sure," Wedge admitted. "But as a couple of people have recently pointed out to me, everyone deserves a chance, even Thras Nyl." He moved forward, leaning his elbows on his desk, cradling his mug between his hands. "I want him watched, though. We'll give him a chance to prove himself here, but anything suspicious and I send him packing. Is that clear?"

Tycho's eyes narrowed slightly, but he quickly covered it with a smile. "I get it. Consider it taken care of."

"And watch the rest of the Rogues. There may be some who don't take kindly to his presence." Wedge leaned back again, shaking his head. "Tych, I have to admit that I have a bad feeling about this."

Tycho shook his head slightly, leaning back as well. "Trust me, Wedge, Nyl will make a great addition to the Rogues."

"He'd better," Wedge said. "For all our sakes."


	6. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

General Selr Rozrrom wandered the hallways of his current base, an asteroid nicknamed Enmity. His group, the Inexorables, had only recently moved from a base on a barren moon to this more practical and secluded facility. It was found deserted when one of his agents ran down a crewmember who'd stolen a shuttle in an attempt to escape Rozrrom's wrath. The location was reported back to him, and once the General had seen the particulars on the size of the hidden and naturally fortified base, he'd decided to make good use of what someone else had abandoned. It would be here, from now on, that he would launch his operations, until he found something else that better suited him.

_My own star system, perhaps_? he thought with a twisted grin, continuing on down the corridor. It was his custom before retiring for the night to make sure all guards were posted and every security measure was in place. The ritual dated from his days as a smuggler, working for the Hutts and various other employers, running goods all across the galaxy. He'd always done the security rounds personally, whether on board a ship or in the base he was occupying at the time, never truly trusting anyone but himself.

And these days, he had to be extra careful. A deadly enemy had been born of attacks on the New Republic, destroying a few of their capital ships and even more of their fighters. Rozrrom even went so far as to steal control of three remote rim-ward planets out from under their noses. With that kind of an insult and threat, they would now be doubly determined to capture or kill him, in order to maintain their impression of security and safety. Already their agents had been found and killed on one of his occupied planets; there were sure to be more infiltrators, searching, watching, and waiting until the perfect opportunity revealed itself. Then they would strike, and he would have to be ready for them when they did. To teach them a lesson once and for all, and proliferate his reputation throughout the known galaxy.

Rounding a corner, Rozrrom spotted the two guards responsible for protecting his armory. One of the men was beginning to doze where he stood, his chin drooping down to lean on his chest. The other guard was awake, and spotted the general when he was still some fifteen meters away, despite the shadows. Rozrrom kept him silent with a pointed glare as he quietly approached the sleeping guard, moving to his right.

Rozrrom clasped together his hands into one, giant raised fist, bringing it down heavily on the back of the drowsy guard's neck. The man gave a surprised yell as he slumped to the floor, landing hard on his hands and knees. His weapon feel free of its owner's hands, clattering to the floor a meter away from him.

The felled guard managed to look up, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand, his upper body propped up with the other. Rozrrom bent at the waist, his face barely ten centimeters from the man's nose. "Until you learn to stay awake while on duty, you will stand guard here, without rest, no matter how long it takes. Do you understand me?" The General's voice was a bass growl, laced with a carefully practiced malevolence, which echoed down the hallway.

"Yes, sir," the guard answered quietly, using his retrieved blaster rifle to steady himself as he climbed back to his feet. "S-sorry, sir."

Without another word, Rozrrom turned his back on the two men, heading off to continue his rounds. Once out of sight, he pulled out a comlink. "Larrdin?"

"Yes, General?" his second-in-command responded promptly, despite the lateness of the hour.

"In ten hours, check on Bazder outside the armory. If he shows any sign of fatigue, kill him where he stands. If he's still awake...Hmm, kill him anyway as a lesson to the others. Just don't forget to have someone replace him."

"Understood, General. It will be taken care of." With a subdued click, Rozrrom closed the frequency and replaced the comlink in the holder on his belt. He proceeded down the corridor, heading for the rear entrance to the base. Finding that the guards were posted and alert, he concluded his rounds for the night and continued through the long tunnels towards his quarters.

Cut into the rough stone of the asteroid by unknown people some time before the Clone Wars, the tunnels were dank and dark, lit only by glow rods embedded into the stone every eight meters. Placed thirty centimeters above ground level, it was just enough light for the knowing eye to navigate by, but would hinder any force trying to invade the base. It was Rozrrom's seventh base in the last ten years, but one of the best by far. It had taken him a long time to rise to the position he now held--a rough existence, with many battles along the way--but he had to admit that he loved his way of life. It was what he had always wanted, even as a child: the life and excitement of a pirate.

With that lifestyle, however, came enemies. The New Republic had decided he was now a big enough threat that it was worth their while devoting resources to his capture or destruction. On the flip side of the credit, this meant that he now had a worthy adversary to go up against, to be able to test and prove his skill as a leader. So far the Inexorables hadn't met a force capable of stopping them, and his base was well hidden, his activities so secret that anyone who was suspected of having leaked any kind of information was killed on the spot, regardless of position or rank; his men knew the price of failure or betrayal. However, they also knew that despite his cruelty on occasion, there were vast rewards for success, which was one of the few things that kept them loyal to him. And using that loyalty allowed him enough success and credits to _buy_ the loyalty of others. As it stood now, he needed all the loyalty he could get.

In his latest battle with the New Republic, Rozrrom had almost encountered defeat for the first time. If the battle was measured by the amount of destruction and devastation wrought on the opponent, then perhaps it could have been considered a victory, but Rozrrom had lost enough ships and fighters to call it a personal failure on his part.

Rogue Squadron had been fighting with the group that had attacked. Rozrrom had not seen the renowned fighter group in action before, and although they had been fighting against him, he was impressed with their skills, not only as individual pilots, but as a team. Twelve fighters flew as a tight group, even when split into pairs, with an expertise and precision that put his motley assembly of pilots and mercenaries to shame.

Rozrrom was still considering the skill of Rogue Squadron when he arrived at his quarters. Entering the dark room, he crossed over to his desk. Punching several buttons on his communications console, Rozrrom contacted his tactical officer, Schon.

"What was the final total of fighters lost in the last battle?"

"Twenty-three, General. Seventeen fighters, six interceptors," came the crisp reply.

"And did we get any kind of confirmation of the Rogue Squadron fatalities?"

"Yes, sir. Based on information leaked to us from within Starfighter Command, Rogue Squadron is replacing three pilots. It is suspected that a total of fifteen craft were lost from their fleet, according to that information and our own sensor logs. Plus the capitol ship."

Rozrrom growled quietly. Although the Inexorables had managed to destroy three of their X-wings, Rogue Squadron had accounted for a sizeable portion of the TIEs he'd lost. Not only was that an embarrassment for Rozrrom, but he was going to have to pay a steep price for replacements; and he hated to pay for anything he didn't have to, whether he could afford it or not. For that, and the near humiliation they had brought upon him, it would be best if the Rogues were dealt with, quickly.

"No, not dealt with," he grumbled, his hands tightening into fists. "_Crushed!_"

"What was that, General?" Schon asked politely.

"Nothing. Rozrrom out." He hammered his fist down on the button to cut off the transmission. He took several deep breaths, still trying to vent off some of the anger that his thoughts about the Rogues had brought on. As he searched for composure, however, an idea occurred to him. He reached for his datapad, bringing up the information he sought.

"Rogue Squadron are a threat. They're a team. They fight well, they fight together," Rozrrom mused, tapping at some keys as he continued out loud. He always spoke aloud when trying to solve a complex problem. "How could I stab deep into the heart of the squadron? Divide and conquer, make them easier to kill if they're on their own. Split them up, cause trouble, be indirect, be smart, make them weaker, make them...doubt..."

A jolt of electricity ran down his spine, a plan suddenly and almost completely formed in his mind. He knew how he was going to destroy the Rogues, all he needed now was the undercover operative to do the killing for him. He punched eagerly at the keys on his datapad, pulling up lists of agents, both former and current spies that worked for him. More key strokes separated them into groups of talents and skills. He smiled as the name of the perfect individual leapt almost immediately to the top of the list, already in an ideal position to be of aid in his efforts.

Rozrrom had used the services of this particular spy before for information gathering, although under completely different circumstances. But he was almost certain that as long as the credits kept flowing, the infiltrator would willingly work for him. He would have someone to attack the Rogues from within, while he attacked from the outside.

It shouldn't be too much of a problem, even if it was expensive. And the risk was all on the side of the spy. What did he have to lose?

* * * * * *

"I always seem to lose," Corran Horn said, tossing his sabaac cards down on the table.

"Cause you give up way too easy," Wes Janson replied, tossing down his own cards. He picked up the small pile of candied juzy fruit from a large bowl at the center of the table, next to the card randomizer, and Corran instantly swiped them up.

"You had _nothing_!" he exclaimed in wide-eyed surprise, looking up at Wes, then back down at the cards again.

"That's right," Janson smirked. "Guess those Jedi powers of yours don't help in sabaac."

Corran rolled his eyes. "I can't believe I fell for the Janson bluff."

"I can't believe _I _did," Hobbie said from his side of the table. "You'd think I'd know better by now."

They were in Wes and Hobbie's quarters, Corran and Ooryl having joined them earlier, bringing the candied fruit to use as sabaac chips. They hardly ever played for credits anymore; if they did, Tycho would have declared bankruptcy years before.

While the colonel had been called away to meet with Wedge, they'd changed from the more complex Rhodian sabaac to straight hand sabaac. They only used the randomizer at the beginning, so the hand a player was dealt was what they played. They did receive one extra card after the second round of betting, then had to discard one, but that was it.

As Ooryl gathered the cards and pressed the glowing red button on the randomizer, a ping sounded from the door. Wes, his chair carefully balanced on the two rear legs, reached over his head to hit the button that opened the door. With only a slight hydraulic grind, the door slid open to re-admit Tycho. "Did I miss anything?" the colonel asked, resuming his seat. He'd been gone for about three-quarters of an hour.

"Nothing, unless you count me bluffing Jedi Horn here," Wes said, popping a candied fruit into his mouth.

Corran eyed Wes wearily. "I am _not_ a Jedi."

"Closer to it than any of us will ever be," Wes commented, dropping his chair back onto all four legs. A tone resonated from the randomizer..

"Are you playing, Tycho?" Corran's Gand wingman asked before dealing.

"Yup, count me in," Tycho replied, tallying the pieces of fruit in a bowl sitting beside Ooryl's. He and the Gand were sharing one side of the table. Tycho frowned. "Where did my drink go?"

Hobbie jerked a thumb at Wes, sitting to his left. "Major Greedy over here drank it."

Tycho scowled to his right. "If there's one thing you should know by now, Janson, it's that you should never steal my drink."

"I'm shaking in my boots," Wes replied sarcastically, gathering up his cards. "You leave it, you lose it. I open with five."

As the other four players threw their opening wagers into the bowl, Corran poured Tycho another glass of Whyren's Reserve. Since they weren't on active flight duty, they could indulge in the real thing. "What did Wedge want?" he asked, replaced the bottle under the table, then studied his cards.

Tycho looked up from his own cards. "Oh, he's finally put in a request for new pilots. They should be here within the week, then we can get you kids back to the front line."

"I'm kind of enjoying this duty," Hobbie said, leaning back in his chair. He flicked a piece of lint from the shoulder of his tunic.

"That's why we have to get you back to real duty as soon as possible," Tycho responded, a toothy grin cutting through the fine lines around his mouth.

"No rest for the wicked," Wes grumbled.

"Anyone interesting?" Corran asked, a subtle change in topic.

"What do you care?" Wes eyed the captain. "You're married. Leave some for the rest of us."

"That is _not_ what I meant, and you know it!" Corran asserted, dropping both hands to the table in protest.

Tycho ignored both of them. "One human male, one human female, one Sullustan male."

"Anyone Ooryl is familiar with?" the Gand asked before dropping ten pieces of fruit into the pot. It had grown to a sizeable amount, and Wes was eyeing it hungrily.

"Maybe. The human male is Thras Nyl." The progress of the game stopped suddenly as everyone turned to look at Tycho. He glanced around the table at his friends. "What?

"The Imperial?" Wes asked.

"Ex-Imperial," Hobbie corrected him. "I remember the news items on Nyl's capture. Someone from High Flight Squadron got him with an ion blast, right?"

"Yup," Tycho answered. "He was tractored by a Mon Cal light cruiser right after the battle at Bilbringi. I'll see Ooryl's ten and raise another ten."

"I'm out," Hobbie said, tossing down his cards. "I didn't know he'd defected."

"Neither did I," Tycho responded, changing the order of his cards. "But apparently he has, and the New Republic saw fit to accept him. His request came through for a transfer to the Rogues, and Wedge approved it."

"He could be an interesting addition, assuming he doesn't get us all killed," Wes commented easily, tossing a large handful of candies into the bowl. "See the ten, raise it thirty."

"Oh no you don't," Corran snorted. "I won't fall for that twice. I'll see your thirty and add another twenty."

"Qrygg folds."

"I'm out as well." Tycho cast his cards onto the table, leaning back with his fingers laced together behind his head.

"Finally learned when to quit, Tych?" Wes asked with a smirk. He placed his cards on the table, face down, then proceeded to dramatically roll up the sleeves of his shirt. "Down to you and I, Horn."

"Just the way I like it, Janson," Corran retorted, leaning forward on his elbows.

Ooryl handed out the additional card to the two remaining players. It had grown very quiet around the table, the consequences of Thras Nyl forgotten for the moment as all eyes settled on Corran and Wes. The former picked up his last card, adding it to his collection. Wes had already done the same, and was now shuffling cards from the back to the front of his hand, his eyes continuously on Corran. "You really think I'm bluffing, don't you."

"I'm betting the pot on it," Corran replied.

Wes tossed one card onto the table, and Ooryl scooped it up. Corran considered his cards, picked one out, but then replaced it with the others. He chose a second card, then tucked it back in as well.

"I don't have all night, Corran," Wes complained.

"You in a hurry, Janson?" Corran asked, looking lazily up at the major.

"No, but since you're going to lose anyway, why draw out the agony?"

Corran observed Wes for another moment, then closed his eyes, sitting back in his chair. Hobbie and Tycho looked from Corran to Wes, Hobbie with a smile blossoming on his usually dour face. "Watch out, Wes. He may try to pick something out of that tiny brain of yours."

Wes lay his cards down on the table again, losing his grin. "Hey, no fair! No reading my brain, or aura, or whatever it is you're trying to do."

Corran sat back up, his eyes open once again. "What? Sorry, I thought I'd take a nap, since you were boring everyone with your theatrics."

"I'll give you theatrics," Wes mumbled. "You gonna throw away a card? I'm telling you, even if you kept it, I'd still beat you."

"Now I _know_ you're bluffing," Corran chuckled, finally choosing a card and handing it to Ooryl. "Your bet, Janson."

"How much you got left?"

Corran looked over his small hoard of fruit pieces. "About a hundred."

"Then that's the bet," Wes said, pushing his own bowl over beside the larger one at the center of the table. He kept the surplus, which was only about a dozen or so pieces of the candy.

Corran frowned. "If you win, it'll wipe me out..."

Wes shrugged. "Up to you, Corran. Take the risk and maybe lose, don't take the risk and lose what you've already bet."

"Duuuum-d'dum-dum," Hobbie sang ominously.

Tycho laughed, and Ooryl looked confused. Tycho leaned over and whispered "I'll explain later."

"Never pressure a Rogue, Janson. You may not like what happens," Corran threatened breezily.

Wes didn't even look up. "I've been a Rogue since before you begged for your first kiss. You in or out, junior?"

"I'm all in," Corran said, shoving his own bowl over to rest beside Wes's.

"Let's see your cards, CorSec," Wes said.

Corran lay his cards down on the table, and Hobbie gasped. "You bet all that on a positive twelve? Are you _insane_?! Even Tycho had more than that!"

"I'm betting that _he_ doesn't, though." Corran chuckled, motioning at Wes with his head.

"Guess again, Captain Corellia."

Wes made a flourish of displaying his cards, dropping them onto the dark metal table one at a time, very slowly. When the last card was revealed, Tycho swore, and Ooryl's mouthparts clicked loudly. "I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes," Tycho muttered.

Amongst his cards, Wes had the Idiot card, which was usually worth nothing. He also had a two of sabers and the Evil One, bringing his total to under what Corran had. But the last card, the second Endurance card, turned everything on its head. Wes had negative twenty-three: a natural sabaac. Nothing could beat that.

Wes shot to his feet--his chair flying away behind him--and raised his arms in victory. He then proceeded to dance around the room, tossing pieces of his winnings at the other players. Hobbie caught some and tossed them back, but Wes didn't care. "I'm the best, I'm the best," he chanted, while Corran pouted in his chair.

Ooryl leaned over to Tycho. "Ooryl thinks that the new Rogues have no idea what they have gotten themselves into."

"You're telling me," Tycho muttered.


	7. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Wedge had frequented numerous briefing rooms over his many years flying for the Alliance--now the New Republic--but few had been as large and well appointed as this one. He leaned heavily back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, to survey the room.

It was essentially a large semi-circle, with the flat end having a lectern on a raised half-moon dais. A large oval table and a holoprojector rested on either side of it, completing a rather impressive set of equipment. The curved end of the large chamber was comprised of six rows of comfortable seats, each row higher than the one before it, that could easily accommodate at least three squadrons. Wedge glanced up, towards the high ceiling, squinting his eyes. The lights were bright, but could be dimmed by either using the dial by the door or the one built into the podium.

As he gazed out at the rows of seats again, his mind flashed back to a much earlier time, when there was no lectern and the seats were old ejection couches or a crate you scrounged up. _Lucky to have had seats at all_. He let out a sigh just as Tycho entered the room with Nawara Ven, the squadron's Twi'lek Executive Officer.

"Was that a mighty sigh from our Mighty Leader?" Tycho asked, with a grin that started at his mouth and quickly spread to his eyes. Wedge let himself smile as well.

"I was just thinking about the old days, when we had our pilot briefings huddled in a frozen hangar, sometimes in the clearing of a jungle, but never in a room with state of the art technology and seats you could sleep in."

"Stop it, Wedge, you're making me feel old now," Tycho said as he dropped into a chair across from his commander. He shifted back and forth in it. "But now that you mention it, this seat _is_ comfy."

Wedge rolled his eyes and turned his attention to Nawara. "Did the new pilots all make it in okay?"

The Twi'lek brushed one of his lekku, the fleshy extensions at the back of his head sometimes referred to as brain tails, over his right shoulder with a flourish. "Yes, sir. I met them in the hangar and escorted them to their quarters. I also informed all three of them about the orientation this afternoon, and the briefing just after it."

"Good. Thanks, Nawara." Wedge leaned back again, lacing his fingers behind his head just as Nawara took a seat beside Tycho.

"So why did you ask us here a half hour before the orientation, Boss?" Tycho asked. "Let me guess, you wanted to tell us to be on our best behavior?"

Wedge shook his head. "Only necessary if you're Wes. No, I wanted to talk to you about Thras Nyl."

Tycho folded his arms across his chest, his face closing over the good humor of a moment before. "What about him?"

Wedge held up his hands in self-defence. "Easy, Tych. I just wanted to ask your opinion about flight assignments."

Tycho blew out a long breath, shaking his head slightly. "Sorry, Wedge. I just know how he must feel being here. I know how I was treated by some people when I first came over, and then after the trial... Well, it just can't be easy for him."

"It's all right. I know that I haven't exactly been one of his greatest supporters, but I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt." He got a nod from Tycho and continued. "Okay, these are going to be the flight assignments. I've moved a couple of people around to make it work the way I want it to. Either of you jump in if you have a problem."

"Go ahead," Tycho said.

"Rogues One and Two are you and I, Tycho." Wedge looked over at his second-in-command, and saw a flash of surprise in his blue eyes. "I wanted a wingman who could take care of himself if I wasn't around to do it."

Tycho nodded, looked as if he wanted to say something, but changed his mind and remained quiet. Wedge continued. "I have Nyl as Three and Hobbie as Four, joining us in One Flight. Do either of you see any problems pairing Nyl and Hobbie?"

Tycho shrugged. "Not really. Hobbie's a graduate of the Academy, same as Nyl, so they at least have that in common. Might make Thras's first few weeks a little bit easier." He paused for a moment. "And you can trust Hobbie to keep an eye on him."

"It's for our own protection, Tycho," Wedge said with only a hint of defensiveness. "I would rather have him watched and find nothing than have him get the whole squadron killed."

Tycho's back was suddenly very stiff in his chair. "So you're saying that he'll automatically be under suspicion until you're satisfied that he's trustworthy? How does that make us any better than the Empire?"

"Tycho, now isn't the time for--"

"No, I want an answer to that one," Tycho insisted, his voice rising a little. "I believe that the last time I checked, the New Republic considered you innocent until proven guilty." Tycho got to his feet and leaned on the table in front of Wedge, his tone turning sarcastic. "Oh, that's right. That doesn't apply to people like me and Thras."

Wedge's eyes narrowed. "I don't think I like what you're insinuating, Tycho. And don't forget that _I_ was the one who stood beside you when you were on trial."

There was a moment of brittle silence before Tycho turned and paced up and down in the space between the table and rows of seats. "I know, I know. Don't think that I don't appreciate you defending me, because I do. I just wish that you would give Thras the same chance you gave me. I know that you don't know him like you knew me then, but trust him because he's a fellow pilot; a Rogue."

Wedge stood and walked over to Tycho, laying a hand on his shoulder to stop his friend's pacing. "Okay, I consider myself reprimanded. I'll let it go for the moment, all right?"

"Fine," Tycho said rather quietly, and returned to his seat.

Wedge shook his head and sat as well, although he wasn't nearly as comfortable as he had been just a few minutes before. He punched some keys on his datapad to cover his disquiet. "So, Rogue Five is Wes, who will be in charge of Two Flight, and Rogue Six, his wingman, will be the Sullustan, Hepat Avaan."

He looked up and Nawara just nodded. Tycho said nothing, so he consulted his pad again and continued. "Rounding out Two flight will be Varnestra, Rogue Seven, and Ecla Idec, Rogue Eight. Three Flight will remain as it was with Corran, Ooryl, Myn, and Inyri, Rogues Nine through Twelve, Corran in charge. Any problems with that line-up?" Wedge asked, shutting off his datapad.

"None here," Nawara said, glancing sidelong at Tycho.

"No problems. Sir." Tycho's voice sounded coldly professional. Wedge suppressed a sigh.

"Fine. The three new pilots will be here in about ten minutes for their special briefing, then the rest of the Rogues will join us for the general training briefing. Let's go over the details of those."

* * * * * * *

Three additional pilots, all in worn uniforms sporting brand fresh squadron patches, stood around the briefing room table with their new commander, second-in-command and executive officer.

Tycho seemed to have settled down somewhat since their earlier head-to-head pass, but Wedge was still cautious about how he spoke and reacted to Thras Nyl around him. The last thing he wanted to do was alienate his best friend because of an ex-Imperial. He also didn't want to give Tycho any ammunition for later arguments.

"I'm sure Captain Ven has already welcomed you, but I would like to personally extend a welcome to Rogue Squadron. I'm General Wedge Antilles. To my right is Colonel Tycho Celchu, second-in-command, and my wingman. You've already met our Executive Officer."

After a round of salutes and "pleased to meet you," Wedge indicated for them all to sit, and readied himself for the orientation. He had given this particular talk, with minor adjustments for the Warlord, Pirate or Imperial Admiral of the moment, more times than he could remember. He still got a kind of thrill from it, though. It reminded him of when he had first been given command of Rogue Squadron, and his own orientation lecture, given to him by none other than Luke Skywalker, the departing commander. He hadn't really changed the lecture that much, and it had become a sort of tradition.

"First of all, let me congratulate you on your acceptance to the Rogues. There is usually a long list of pilots wanting to transfer to this unit for one reason or another, and out of that list, we chose you, because of levels of skill and experience. Now let me tell you a little something about your new squadron."

"Here it comes," Tycho mumbled under his breath. "The old disclaimer."

Wedge eyed Tycho briefly. "Rogue Squadron may be a little different from other units you've served with. It's a little more democratic than most, I think, perhaps because of the nature of the missions we're often given. But make no mistake, when I make a decision and give an order, it is to be followed."

Tycho tried to suppress a smirk, but didn't entirely succeed. Wedge raised an eyebrow slightly before continuing, knowing that Tycho knew what was coming next. "You may also notice that some of your squadron mates are a little...unique." Tycho chuckled outright this time; Wedge ignored him. "But they're some of the best pilots in the galaxy. If you want to become a better pilot, then they're the ones to learn from. If you want to test your skill, then you're flying with the best. So... Flight Officer Ecla Idec."

The young woman straightened in her chair, a pair of crystal blue eyes snapping up to look at Wedge, her shoulder length hair swaying slightly with her movements. "Your wingmate will be Varnestra. Your call sign is Rogue Eight, she is Rogue Seven."

"Thank you, sir," she said, nodding her acceptance. She was professional, but Wedge could detect a lot of enthusiasm in her eyes. She was young and eager, anxious to please, but her record spoke for itself. She'd received a citation from her former commanding officer for bravery and superior flying skills. She was just the type of pilot he knew would fit well with the rest of the squadron.

"Flight Officer Hepat Avaan." The small, mouse-eared pilot looked back at his commander with round, dark eyes, and Wedge could see a tiny warped reflection of himself. "You will be paired with Major Wes Janson--"

"My condolences," Tycho offered quietly.

"--and call sign Rogue Six. He is Rogue Five."

"Thank you, General," Avaan said, his dark brown jowls vibrating as he spoke. He was very small, even for his diminutive species. Only his upper chest, shoulders, and head appeared above the top of the table. Luckily all three pilots were reporting for their new duties with their own X-wings, because Wedge knew that Avaan's probably had a lot of modifications done to enable him to pilot it. He had an impressive flight record, so Wedge had to believe that whatever the modifications were, they worked for him.

"And Flight Officer Thras Nyl."

Wedge noticed that Tycho was suddenly silent, his shoulders a little straighter. _Is he watching me to see what kind of welcome I give him? Well, if he is, I'm not going to give him anything to pick at later_."Flight Officer Nyl, this transfer is going to be hardest on you, I would imagine. We've paired you with another Academy graduate, Major Derek Klivian. He's a superior pilot and a patient teacher; he should have you up to speed with our rules, regulations and jargon in no time. You'll be Rogue Three to his Rogue Four."

"Thank you," Nyl answered. Long dark lashes hid some of his steel gray eyes, but Wedge could read no malice or animosity in them. His black hair was swept back clear of his face, and his prominent chin was resolutely set. "I appreciate this opportunity, sir. To serve with Rogue Squadron is an honor."

"Let me know if you feel the same way by the end of the week," Wedge added, and everyone around the table chuckled. Including, to Wedge's relief, Tycho. "Okay, now to the main purpose of this meeting. I wanted to bring you all into the loop about who we're currently fighting. Idec, I know you haven't faced Rozrrom's forces before, correct?"

She nodded curtly to him. "Correct, sir. I was stationed out nearer the Rim, guarding freighters against smugglers, for the last six months."

"Yes, I remember that from your record." Wedge slowly nodded, moving on to his next target. "Nyl, will this be your first tour of duty against Rozrrom's forces?"

"Yes, General. Up until now, I have only faced New Republic ships in actual battle."

Wedge raised an eyebrow. _No regret, no apology. It's a part of his past that he's accepted and hopes we can do the same._ "This briefing will be advantageous for you as well, then. Avaan, you've gone up against them a number of times."

"Correct. With High Flight Squadron, then Belkin Squadron."

Wedge tried to remember where he had heard the name High Flight before. He had seen it prominently somewhere besides Avaan's file, knowing that the Sullustan had flown B-wings before X-wings. In a flash, the answer surfaced in his mind. It was a pilot in High Flight that shot down Thras Nyl at Bilbringi. He looked at Nyl, but the ex-Imperial's face was expressionless. _Maybe he hasn't made the connection...Probably doesn't even know who it was that got him. And I'm not about to point it out._

"Okay, I'll run through a background of Rozrrom, then go on to let you in on what our part in upcoming operations will be." Wedge didn't need to consult his datapad. He had been studying Rozrrom for the last two months, ever since the Rogues had been attached to the fleet chasing him across both Imperial and New Republic space. He knew the details off by heart--had to in order to try and anticipate the slippery pirate.

"Selr Rozrrom was born on Corellia, but left there in his teens to take up smuggling and piracy. From what records New Republic Intelligence have been able to scrounge up, it seems he made a pretty good living as a smuggler, good enough to eventually piece together his own fleet of freighters, hire on a small army of other smugglers, and go into business for himself. His main goal always seemed to be money and power."

"After the Battle of Endor, Rozrrom upped his operations, reassured no doubt that the Imperial Navy had more important things to worry about. As far as we know, he kept within the borders of the Empire, so he had very little contact with the New Republic."

Wedge leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "At some point after that--Intelligence isn't sure when--he hired himself out to a warlord by the name of Ewe Zo'anzo. Reasons for this move? Unknown. What_ is_ known is that he was most likely paid a lot of credits to fall in with Zo'anzo, and Rozrrom sold most of his freighters. He worked very closely with the warlord, and it cannot be discounted that he was possibly a personal bodyguard, among other things. If rumors can be believed, among those other things was personal assassin." Wedge looked over at Tycho, then gave him a quick kick under the table.

"Personal assassin. I'm paying attention," the colonel said, sitting up a little straighter.

"He kept that position up until about a year ago, when Zo'anzo turned up dead on some middle-rim planet. Since Rozrrom is ambitious, and took over everything that Zo'anzo controlled, including his Star Destroyer, it's a safe bet that he had him killed, maybe even killed him personally."

"Lovely," Ecla commented, then suddenly seemed to realize she'd spoken aloud. She looked a little embarrassed. Wedge raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly, then continued.

"He ended up with hundreds of thousands of men working for him. Of course, most of them were crewers on the ImpStar, _Nefarious_, but the more men he has, the more he wins over. In the last year he seems to have concentrated on gathering the credits and connections needed to fund his operations. Somewhere in there, Rozrrom declared himself a general and moved outwards towards New Republic space. Since then he's been attacking not only convoys but planets as well, taking supplies, ships, even people, and building his own little empire. His group calls itself the Inexorables."

Wedge leaned forward, twining his fingers together as he leaned his elbows on the table. "What is not generally known is that about a month ago, Rozrrom stumbled across an Imperial _Lancer_-class frigate. There was a short battle, and the Imperial captain was...lets say convinced to surrender his ship. Rozrrom took possession of it in more or less good condition, and renamed it _Inferno_."

"The fleet we were deployed with went up against _Nefarious_ and _Inferno_ a couple of weeks ago. Rozrrom caught us off guard with an extra ship, excellent tactics, and better pilots than we'd previously seen. The three of you are replacing the pilots Rogue Squadron lost in that engagement." Wedge paused, letting his words sink in. "Rozrrom seems to be smart, well financed, and at the moment, well hidden. He's not seen until he wants to be, which makes him a difficult enemy to catch, no matter what size of fleet the New Republic sends out. And since one quarter of Rogue Squadron is now new, we'll be training on Coruscant for a while, and when the next fleet leaves to take on Rozrrom, we'll go with it."

Wedge leaned back in his chair again. "So, you're probably wondering why I just told you all that, most of which won't make a bit of difference in your cockpit." He glanced at each of the new pilots. "One thing you have to understand is that Rogue Squadron may be a fighter group, but my squads tend to be a little bit more than that. As I learned from my time with Wraith Squadron, the more ideas you bring to the table, no matter how insane, the better off we all are. So from time to time, we'll sit down and hash out some theories about the why and how of Rozrrom's actions. Just to see what we can come up with."

With a deep breath, Wedge once again looked over the three pilots he'd chosen. "Are there any questions?"

"When do we start?" Ecla Idec asked, a spirited spark in her light eyes.

"I'm glad you asked," Wedge replied as the first of the veteran Rogues started to file into the room. "Cause we're starting right now."

* * * * * * * *

Corran sat at the back of the briefing room, listening to his commander introduce the newest Rogues. Wedge then went on to lay out the details of the upcoming training exercise. It was a simple run, one that they would sim that morning and perform in the afternoon. It consisted of leaving Coruscant's atmosphere and flying in formation to the debris field in orbit around the planet. At that point they would split by wingpair and fly a course through the wreckage. They had to try and reach an end point, only to be provided upon arrival at the starting area, in the fastest possible time. They would then return to the base and have a debriefing afterwards. The point of the relatively simple exercise was to let the new wingpairs grow accustomed to each other, while the rest of the squadron could see their reactions to certain situations.

Not to mention that egos are on the line.

Burying a smile, Corran looked around the room, studying each new pilot in turn. He hadn't had the chance to meet the three newest Rogues before the briefing, but would try to introduce himself sometime between now and the sim. He saw the Sullustan, Hepat Avaan, sitting with the Mon Calamari Varnestra and Myn Donos, just to the left of the dais. The second new pilot, Ecla Idec, sat with Inyri Forge to the right. He had seen Inyri speaking with the woman, and they had seemed to be friendly enough. Corran therefore assumed that they had been assigned quarters together.

And then there was Thras Nyl. As soon as he saw the tall pilot, Corran had been reminded of Bror Jace. His former Thyfferan squadmate had the same air of extreme confidence. It looked to him that Thras Nyl assumed an air of superiority over the other Rogues that Corran didn't like at all. And there was something else...

_What's the matter, Horn? Afraid he's going to out-fly you?_ He grunted quietly to himself. _Yeah, that'll be the day. Unless my ego shoots me down first, that is_. Corran sighed lightly, one hand coming up to rub at his forehead. For some reason, he had the feeling it was going to be a long day.

As Wedge ended the meeting, Corran stood and headed down to the front of the room, walking just behind Ooryl. He looked off towards the exit, and saw Wes dragging Hobbie out of the room. Corran wondered where they were rushing off to, and who it meant trouble for.

"Ooryl! Corran!" Inyri waved to them. "Come on over here a second."

Following in Ooryl's wake, Corran made his way across the room to where Inyri stood. "I want to introduce you to Flight Officer Ecla Idec. Ecla, this is Captain Corran Horn and Lieutenant Ooryl Qyrgg, Rogues Nine and Ten."

"It's a pleasure to meet you both." The woman saluted both Corran and Ooryl, then smiled pleasantly.

Corran returned the salute. "We're not quite that formal around here, Ecla. A simple handshake will do. And please, call me Corran." He chuckled and offered her his hand. She took it in a firm grip, gave it a simple shake, then released it. She had a pretty face, he noticed, with dark brown hair hovering just above her shoulders. When she smiled, she had a little dimple in her left cheek. Her skin was pale and creamy, a smattering of freckles across her nose giving her a rather young look, but her blue eyes flashed with intensity and fire, giving her an interesting mix of youth and poise. He knew instinctively that she was a woman who knew how to take care of herself.

As some of the other pilots were introduced to Ecla, Corran stepped over to the Sullustan, offering his hand to the diminutive pilot. "Captain Corran Horn. Welcome to the Rogues."

"I am Flight Officer Hepat Avaan. It is an honor to serve with such a distinguished squadron."

The small pilot spoke nearly perfect basic, no hesitation or accent, surprising Corran a little. He shook his hand, then turned to introduce him to Ooryl. "This is Lieutenant Ooryl Qyrgg, Rogue Ten and my wingman."

As Ooryl shook hands with the new Rogue, Corran caught a movement out the corner of his eye. He turned to see Thras Nyl, loitering near the door. The dark haired man seemed aloof and held himself apart from the rest of the Rogues, yet kept near to the group, like a new kid in school wanting to be a part of the gang, but not quite sure how to join in.

Corran suppressed a sigh. _I guess someone has to be the first to welcome him. Might as well be me._

Fixing a good-natured smile on his face, he walked over to Thras, extending his hand as he approached him. "And you must be Thras Nyl. Corran Horn. Welcome to Rogue Squadron."

Corran saw Nyl's gaze dip quickly to his rank insignia, then back up to look him in the eye. "Thank you, Captain. It is an honor to be accepted into the squadron."

Corran frowned slightly; the ex-Imperial actually sounded genuinely happy to be a Rogue. "Well, you must be a pretty hot hand if General Antilles brought you on board."

Thras cleared his throat slightly. "Well, I look forward to proving what skills I possess, sir."

Corran's smile threatened to become authentic. _Did he just blush?_ "First of all, my name is Corran. And secondly, if it's proof you're looking for, how about a little friendly sim contest later on? Before we head out on the training mission?"

"It would be a pleasure, Captain." Corran raised his eyebrows and tilted his head slightly, starting to smile again. "Uh, Corran," Nyl corrected himself.

"That's better," he said, just as Ooryl appeared at his side and introduced himself, then reminded Corran that they needed to get moving.

"Okay, see you later, Thras." He left Nyl behind, wondering if the former Imperial was really as bad as he thought he might be.

* * * * * * *

With a groan, the canopy of the X-wing simulator began to rise. Corran yanked off his helmet and pushed it violently aside, not even bothering to watch it crash onto, and then down, the metal steps towards the floor of the simulator room. His sweat-matted brown hair was plastered to his head, so he ruffled it with a gloved hand, leaving some of it sticking straight out in places.

_Damn it, I'll get him yet!_ Corran wasn't sure what frustrated him more: the fact that he kept getting shot down, or the fact that he let it bother him.

He climbed over the side with less grace than he would have liked and headed down to the table in the center of the room to grab a towel. His muscles grumbled in protested after having sat in the same position for the last five-plus hours, first simming the practice mission with the squadron, then simming with just Thras Nyl and Tycho.

Behind him, he heard the hiss of released air as the canopy of the second X-wing simulator cracked open. Thras, wearing a dark blue flightsuit, removed his helmet, leaving it on the pilot's couch as he jumped energetically over the side of the sim unit, hitting the metal landing with a faint _clank_. Corran let a small smile of satisfaction creep onto his face. _If he's getting out of the sim now, then Tycho must have got him._

As if on cue, the third simulator opened up and Tycho climbed up and over the side, removing his helmet and tucking it under the arm of his black flightsuit. He was met at the foot of the stairs by Thras. Corran watched as they laughed quietly then headed in his direction. He wondered absently if he had time to make a quick exit before they reached him.

_Coward_, he berated himself. He tried to smile as the two men converged on him, but could manage only a tight grimace.

"You almost got me that time, Corran," Tycho said as he walked up to the Corellian captain. "If you'd kept your turn a little tighter, I'd be in a gaseous state right about now."

"Probably true. But by the time I realized it, _he_ was already on my tail," he replied, jerking a thumb at Thras. "If I'd kept in the turn, he would've vaped me thirty seconds sooner."

Thras laughed quietly. It was a deep, rich sound from low in his throat, pleasant to the ear and seemingly genuine. Corran took a moment to study him more closely. He was above average height, which meant that he was taller than Corran by about a dozen centimetres. His black hair was cut short, his high forehead lending him an air of nobility that might have contributed to the earlier comparison to Bror Jace. His intense gray eyes sparkled with an intelligence that Corran felt could be very dangerous, and there was also something else... Something that pushed Corran towards not trusting Thras Nyl, no matter how friendly he seemed. But Corran didn't think it was because he was an ex-Imperial; he had worked with defectors and Academy graduates before, Hobbie and Tycho just to name two. But there was something about Nyl... Something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Of course, the fact that he's shot me down five times out of five doesn't prompt him to be one of my favorite people, either.

"It was as much luck as anything else, Captain," Thras said, taking a towel from the table and rubbing at his face with it. "With more exposure to my flying techniques, I am sure you would quickly gain the upper hand."

"Sure," Corran replied glacially, feeling his mood sour even further. "See you around." He hung his towel around his neck and turned towards the exit.

* * * * * * *

Thras looked at Tycho. "Maybe next time I should just let him get me?" he half-joked.

Tycho watched Corran as he left the simulator room, then turned his attention back to the new Rogue. "Don't mind Corran, he's just extremely competitive. The fact that you're an exceptional pilot could promote some friction with him, but don't worry about it, he'll come around eventually."

Thras slung his towel over his shoulder. "I guess. But it's the eventually that worries me."

Tycho clapped his hand on Nyl's shoulder. "Why don't you hit the showers and get some rest. You've had quite the unexpected workout. And there's still the training mission to come."

Thras stretched his arms out over his head, tendons popping in his shoulders. "I think you're right. I wasn't expecting to be simming for quite this long, but Captain Horn is extremely...spirited." Thras smiled, saluted and turned to leave.

The colonel called out to him as Thras headed for the door. "I wouldn't worry about the Rogues; but if Corran is any indication, they'll keep you on your toes. You'll need all the rest you can get."


	8. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

"Rogue Squadron, this is Rogue Leader. Tighten it up out there. Diamond formation, by flight."

The squadron left the hangar on Coruscant ten minutes before, and were quickly thereafter cleared by military traffic control to exit the double shields protecting the planet. Now through those shields, they were free to head out towards the debris belt orbiting the planet and start the mission they had simmed for a good deal of the morning. But for the moment, Wedge wanted to see how both new and old Rogues would react to an order they weren't expecting and hadn't practiced. As there were new pilots in two of the three flights, this would be an excellent chance to see how everyone would perform.

"Gate, record this, will you?" His R-5 droid tootled a short response, then a question scrolled across Wedge's secondary screen. "Yes, it has been a while since I've done this, and yes, I'll be careful. Just a little test for them. Sit back and enjoy the show."

Already moving from words to actions, Wedge moved to the head of One Flight's diamond, with Tycho on his right, Hobbie moving smartly into position on his left. Thras Nyl was the fourth point, flying just behind both Hobbie and Tycho, and slightly below. Looking to his left, Wedge could see Three Flight, with Corran's green and white fighter in the lead, nimbly move into its own diamond. Twisting to his right, Wedge saw Two Flight in the midst of confusion.

Wes had taken his place as lead, but Varnestra and new pilot Hepat Avaan seemed to be mystified as to who was going where. Varnestra was to have taken the point to the rear and left of Wes's fighter, but Avaan had gotten in her way, and she had to shift to the right. That left Ecla Idec trying frantically to stay out of the way of both of them, finally getting into the rear position.

Wedge switched over to Two Flight's frequency. "Any time, Two Flight."

"They'll get it, Lead. And rest assured, we'll be practicing this when we get home." Wes sounded frustrated, which wasn't surprising. This kind of formation flying was one of the first things pilots learned. For pilots that were good enough to join the Rogues, it should almost have been second nature by now. But Wedge knew it was probably more a case of miscommunication than anything else. Wes would get them straightened out in short order.

As Two Flight finally had something resembling the correct formation, Wedge switched back to the squadron's tactical frequency, addressing the entire group. "Two Flight, replace Three Flight."

Wedge turned again to watch as the fighters under his command moved to obey his order. This time there was hardly any hesitation on Two Flight's part. They moved below Corran's Three Flight, maintaining their diamond formation, taking their place on Wedge's left. The other flight took its place to his right, returning the squadron to their triangle configuration.

"Better, Rogues. Okay, everyone head for the debris field and take up a holding position at outer marker sixteen, by wingpair."

Wedge moved forward with a short burst of speed, separating himself from One Flight's diamond. Tycho moved with him, his perfect mirror image. Wedge smiled. It was at times like this that he really enjoyed being a pilot, just flying freely through space in what he considered one of the best fighters ever built. No one trying to slip in behind him and kill him, or shoot at his wingmate, or ambush him. Just the pleasure of flying for the sheer enjoyment of it.

Unfortunately, though, there was work to be done. Wedge and Tycho were the first to reach the outer marker, and they cut their engines to wait for the rest of the group to join them. He hit a switch on his comm unit, taking him to the private frequency he shared with his wingman and second. "Two?"

"Yes, Lead?"

"Who should we pick on first?"

Wedge heard Tycho chuckle before he replied. "Well, since Avaan seemed to be causing some chaos earlier, how about him and Wes? Give Wes a chance to burn off some of his frustration as well. Maybe that way he won't leave any permanent marks on him when we get back to base."

"Is one way to reduce the datawork caused by charges. Okay, let them know that they're up first. Marker forty-eight is their goal. Worst time to the finish buys the first round."

* * * * * * *

Rozrrom sat in his private office, studying fleet deployments and personnel rosters in the New Republic, with an eye towards fighter squadrons. It had been a few days since he'd sent out his message to his potential spy, composed to look like an order for droid parts. The message had a special coding, which, when sent through a specific set of relays, was rerouted to a terminal on Coruscant. There, it waited as a junk message until the spy punched in a particular code, either from that location or a remote. The spy was alerted to the waiting message with a one-word file transmitted to an encrypted personal account.

Rozrrom had used this method to contact this particular spy before, but only from time to time, since it was hard to get a message through to a pilot always on the move. But he used this technique whenever he could, and it usually produced useful results, providing him with all kinds of information on both Imperial and New Republic activities. He had never employed the agent full time for fear of discovery, but desperate times called for extreme measures. It was well worth the risk if it could bring his plan to fruition.

He hadn't heard anything yet, however, and he was beginning to wonder if his agent had wholeheartedly joined the Rebellion, forgoing all other loyalties. Rozrrom shook his head, grumbling to himself. _Not that one. May pretend to fit in, but really only loyal to those who can afford to pay for the information._

A tone sounded from his console, and he hit a switch. "Yes, what is it?"

"Security has captured Rends, sir. He was trying to steal a shuttle from hangar A."

"Bring him to me," Rozrrom said with a satisfied smile. His security team had only been looking for the man for just under an hour. Although the base was small by most standards, it was a maze of dark tunnels and shafts, causing his security teams some trouble in tracking down disgruntled employees or prisoners who were trying to escape. An hour was the best time they had posted so far for a search and recovery He would have to give them a suitable reward.

"Yes, sir," the voice replied, then the comm went silent.

A few minutes later, two security guards entered, dragging the trembling Rends by his arms. A trickle of blood ran down his face from a cut just above his hairline, and his tunic was ripped in several places, showing bruises and more cuts beneath. The two heavily muscled guards dropped him in the middle of the cavern, before Rozrrom's desk, and he landed on his hands and knees. The two well-armed guards held him down with a hand on each of his shoulders.

"Thought you could escape, didn't you Rends," Rozrrom said, walking deliberately slowly over to the terrified man. The general was an imposing figure, and he used every inch of it to put the fear of whatever gods Rends worshipped into the prisoner as he approached him.

"N-no, sir. Of course not," the small figure said with a high pitched voice, cracking at the end. He reached up to swipe at the blood on his face, and was cuffed on the back of the head by one of the security guards.

"I think you did, Rends. I can't have you setting a bad example for the rest of the men. You know the penalty and I have to enforce it."

Rends visibly swallowed. "But, but I--"

"No buts, Rends. It is our law, and it must be obeyed. But you have an alternative. If you can prove your loyalty to me, I_ may _let you live. You can still be useful, if you prove loyal."

"L-loyalty? No, please don't ask me to--"

"I'm not _asking_ you to do anything, Rends," Rozrrom said, crouching down until he was face-to-face with his former computer expert. "I'm offering you a chance to save your own life. I think that is most generous of me considering the circumstances."

Rends stared at him with wild eyed terror, and Rozrrom knew that if the security guards were to let him go, he would probably scurry into a corner and curl up into a ball. The weak-willed coward had never liked the restraints that had been placed on him when he joined the Inexorables, despite the lavish rewards for success, but he was talented enough, and essential enough, that Rozrrom kept him on, even after he obviously did not wish to stay. Still, Rozrrom would never have picked Rends as one to be brave enough to run, but he had been wrong before. Not often, but it did happen.

Rozrrom nodded to one of the security guards, who handed Rends a short but obviously sharp blade. "You know what I expect you to do, and the choices you have," Rozrrom said, stepping back a meter. "Do it, and I may reconsider your fate."

Rends looked at the blade in his hand, then up at Rozrrom. He certainly knew what he had to do to prove his loyalty to their leader, the only way of saving his life. What he didn't know, the General reflected, was that he would be killed anyway, regardless of what he did. If the leader of the Inexorables let him live, it could give other unhappy crew the excuse to try and escape their "employment" as well.

The prisoner's hands shook so badly that he had a hard time holding onto the small knife; his breathing became shallow and gasping as he glanced around the large cave, as if an avenue of escape might appear out of thin air. When none presented themselves, he squeezed shut his eyes and raised the blade to his left ear. As he made the first cut, separating the top portion of his ear completely away from the side of his head, he screamed. Before his shriek had even stopped echoing around the office, Rends fell to the rocky floor, blood beginning to pool under his head.

"Kill him," Rozrrom said with a wave of his hand, turning back towards his desk. The sound of a blaster firing reverberated around the cavern, and the customary bright flash silhouetted Rozrrom against the wall behind his chair before he sat down. As he settled in, he noticed a light blinking to show that a text message was waiting for him. He reached out and hit a number of switches, then watched absently as one of the security guards dragged the lifeless corpse out of the room by one foot, the other guard mopping up the trail of blood left behind.

With a sparkle of light, a text message popped up in front of Rozrrom, in the form of a holo above his immense desk. The first thing he noticed was the route it had taken to reach him, which was not a familiar one, having bounced through at least forty relays between the sender and the recipient in an obvious attempt to hide the origin. And from what Rozrrom was reading, it was not from his prospective agent as he hoped it might be. In fact...

"I don't believe this," he said aloud, his voice rumbling through the cavern that he had chosen as his office. "This is too good to be true!"

"Sir?" the guard asked, looking up from his bloody rag. But Rozrrom waived him out of his office with a careless flick of his hand, and quickly composed a message to the author and sent it back via a variation of the route it had come through. And if the sender was true to his word, then the Inexorables were about to add a great deal of power to their fleet. Enough that perhaps even the much celebrated Rogue Squadron may not be able to stop them.

* * * * * * *

Hobbie and Thras Nyl were the last pair, preparing to make their way through the tangled and continually shifting clutter of the debris field. Although it wasn't really a competition, everyone had been trying to beat the best time posted so far, by Corran and Ooryl. The long-time wingmates had blasted through the pieces of wreckage and space garbage, alternately taking the lead, and exploded past the previous leading time of Myn Donos and Inyri Forge. But that wasn't what Hobbie was thinking about at the moment. He couldn't wait to get back to base and tease Wes about the fact that he and Hepat Avaan were in last place.

The Sullustans were well known throughout the galaxy as natural pilots and mechanics, but Hepat had seemed to have some difficulty keeping up with Wes and his rather unorthodox and improvisational style of flying. So the Sullustan reached the marker far behind his wingmate, causing them to put up the worst time. Hobbie hoped Avaan enjoyed simming, because between this and the formation confusion, there was going to be a lot of it in his future. Fortunately, Wes was a good teacher. In his own inimitable manner, of course.

So now it was Hobbie's turn. He'd simmed this with Nyl earlier in the day with no complications. However, if there was one thing that Hobbie had learned from his years of experience, it was that sims never showed all of the problems and dangers that could arise in a mission. Sims were exactly what they were supposed to be: a practice-run for the real thing, not a replacement. _Always expect the unexpected_ was a rule that Hobbie had learned to live with.

Hobbie looked to his left and saw Thras Nyl's X-wing. It didn't really bother him that his new wingman was an ex-Imperial--Hobbie was one himself since defecting to the Rebellion shortly after his graduation from the Academy. That had been a year before the destruction of the first Death Star, just over ten standard years ago.

_Stars, am I that old?_

"All right, Rogues Three and Four, your turn," Tycho said, interrupting Hobbie's increasingly depressing train of thought. "Best time to marker forty-eight. Whenever you're ready, go ahead. And Four, don't mangle your fighter this time."

"Hey, it wasn't my fault last time!" Hobbie protested. "Wes cut me off and I had no choice but to go left. The wreckage got in _my_ way."

"Sure, Four. I've heard that story before. Whenever you're ready."

Hobbie growled as his R-2 unit, Argh, tootled behind him. Despite trying his best to mope, Hobbie was forced to laugh as the translation scrolled by. His droid had been nicknamed Argh by the techs who had repaired his fighter the last time, and he'd decided to keep it. They said it was what the little R-2 unit groaned every time Hobbie crashed or otherwise damaged his ship--which didn't happen nearly as often as everyone made out.

"I promise, not a scratch this time," he told his droid. He flicked over to the comm channel he shared with Thras. "All right, Three. Ready for some fancy flying?"

"After you, Four. Show me how it's done." There was a hint of amusement in Thras's voice, and Hobbie got the feeling that maybe someone had filled him in on the details of his last run through the debris. Hobbie was pretty sure that the facts had been made a little more interesting than they actually were.

"Starting the run now," Hobbie growled, his improved humor escaping as quickly as oxygen into vacuum. "Argh, tell me if Rogue Three gets further than fifty meters from me." He moved past marker sixteen, and Argh started a counter on his main screen. Thras was a dozen or so meters behind him, giving him space to manoeuvre while not falling behind.

Hobbie got into trouble almost immediately, narrowly missing a spiralling piece of junk that used to be a communication satellite. While avoiding that, he headed straight into the path of another piece of trash, then another. Suddenly he was losing control of the situation, reacting instead of taking the offensive. "Three, a little help here!"

While in the simulators, Hobbie and Thras had decided on a strategy for how to navigate through the debris. One of them would take the lead, moving through the field, concentrating mainly on his flying, while the other stayed behind him, giving him a heads up of what was ahead and the best route to take. It had worked well; in the sim at least.

"Okay, you have several large pieces of debris directly ahead," Thras answered. "Take the route to the left."

"Thanks. Keep tight behind me for a bit. I don't want anything cutting you off."

"Understood, Four."

Hobbie chewed on his lower lip as he settled into a state of deep concentration. He swooped around a fighter's hulk, passing close enough over the top of it to see that the pilot's couch was missing. He then threw his stick over hard to squeeze between it and the old bow of a Star Destroyer. As he rounded a piece of wreckage the size of a frigate, Thras was back on the comm. "There's a clearing just behind this large segment where we can pick up our speed for a bit. Head to your starboard, just past that damaged freighter, then a sharp right around that big piece of a space station."

"Copy, Three."

After dodging several smaller chunks, the pair entered the clearing Thras had spotted. Hobbie pushed his throttle up to full, glancing over his shoulder to get a good view of Thras on his starboard side. "Your turn, Three. Take the point."

"With pleasure, Four." Hobbie smiled at the satisfaction evident in Thras's voice. He could tell that the Coruscant native enjoyed flying as much as he did, and took pride in his skills. "We'll go through at point three-eight, between the two hunks of wreckage on the right. I'll keep my speed up as much as possible. You right behind me?"

"You can't get rid of me that easy, Three," Hobbie replied. "Besides, if I lose you on our first run together, Lead'll have me on cleaning duty for a month, never mind the dataforms I'd have to fill out." As they passed between the two derelicts, Hobbie searched his long-range scanners for any incoming objects that may cross their route. "Three, you have a large chunk straight ahead moving to your left. Recommend you take it on the left anyway, since it seems to be smooth flying after that. Three kilometres to the marker."

"Understood, Four. Adjusting course now."

Hobbie watched as Thras headed off to the left, overtaking then starting to move past another wreck. He started after his wingman, leaving Nyl just enough room to manoeuvre if he had to, but still close enough to protect him. At that moment, Argh began to screech. Hobbie searched his scanner, then the space in front of him, and was just in time to see a huge twisted piece of metal appear from close behind the derelict ship. It was heading straight for Thras, who only saw it once it cleared the cover of the freighter. He had no hope of getting out of its path before they would collide.

"Three, break left. _Now!_" Hobbie yelled. At the same time he switched his lasers from quad to dual fire. The crosshairs of his heads-up display fell over the piece of wreckage and he was firing. Thras was a mere meter out of the way when Hobbie's lasers flashed past his wingmate's starboard S-foil, hitting the debris dead on. It wasn't enough to destroy it, but deflected it enough to let Nyl get out of its way. Hobbie let out a long breath, slouching back in his pilot's couch.

"Thanks, Four," Thras said, relief evident in his voice. "That was a little too close."

"Good thing you have excellent reflexes or I might've shot you instead of the wreckage, and that would have been harder to explain than letting you get crushed," Hobbie replied, catching up with his new wingman. "Head straight for the marker. We still have a shot of leaving Five and Six in the dust."

"Follow me, then. I'll try not to get into any more trouble."

Hobbie smiled grimly. "You're a Rogue now, Thras. Trouble comes with the unit patch."

* * * * * * *

Ecla Idec yanked off her helmet and shook her head, letting dark locks fall freely down around her ears. It had taken her nearly a year to grow her hair to this length, and although she preferred the style to the short one she'd sported before, tucking the longer tresses up inside her helmet was annoying, and slightly uncomfortable. It felt good to let it fly loose again.

The clang of the ladder hitting the side of her ship turned her head, and she pulled at her gloves. Once they were off, she tucked them into her helmet and climbed up and over the side of her fighter. Most of the other Rogues had already landed and moved out of the hangar, but she and Varnestra had been held up in orbit, waiting for Coruscant military traffic control to clear them through the planetary shields. Just when she was beginning to despair of being forgotten about, the call came through with their approach vector. As always, it was easier to get off Coruscant than return.

As her feet hit the deck, Shi'dora, the unit's chief mechanic, approached her. "Everything go all right?" the Twi'lek asked her.

"Yes, fine," Ecla answered with a grin. "Just got stuck in orbit."

"Nothing unusual there," Shi'dora said. "Tell me, how did Major Janson perform in the exercise?"

Ecla frowned. "He flew well. Why do you ask?"

Two sharp fangs appeared, momentarily taking Ecla by surprise, until she realized the native of Ryloth was grinning at her. "He did not seem at all pleased," she replied. "It will take me at least a cycle to repair the damage to the equipment he kicked on the way out of the hangar. It may take longer for his wingmate to be repaired, however."

A gurgling chuckle followed the statement, and Ecla finally caught on. "Ah yes, Flight Officer Avaan may have some questions to answer this evening."

"Everything functioning well on your fighter?" Shi'dora asked, slowly heading towards the nose of the X-wing. Her taloned fingers traced a line down the freshly painted red Rogue stripe as she went.

"Yes, no problems," Ecla answered, and the Twi'lek responded with a flourish of her lekku as a wave as she ducked under the fighter and headed off across the empty space on the other side of Ecla's ship. Ecla looked past the departing mechanic and saw a quartet of X-wings approaching the gaping entrance to the hangar. Since they were within atmosphere, there was no need for a magcon field. During the day, the hangar doors usually stayed open, then were closed after sunset.

Ecla knew that the only pair that had still not made their run after she was done was Major Klivian and Flight Officer Nyl. The other two fighters had to be General Antilles and Colonel Celchu, who had been waiting for all of the Rogues to finish before heading back. She decided to remain in the hangar, telling herself that all she wanted to do was use the opportunity to observe such fine pilots manoeuvring their ships so expertly. But really she wanted to know who had gotten the best time. She knew it was not Varnestra and herself, since they had been unable to better the time set by Captain Horn and his wingmate, but she was curious all the same.

The first pair entered the hangar, at least five meters above the floor. Two techs waved them over to their landing zones, and they crept forward on repulsors. Once they reached the squared-off area, they pivoted one hundred and eighty degrees, turning to face the direction they had come from, as if ready to make a quick escape through the hangar doors.

As skilful as that landing had been, though, it was nothing compared to the fluid grace with which the last two veteran Rogues moved into position to land. Ecla leaned her back against the side of her own fighter, captivated as the two X-wings entered the hangar. They were wingtip to wingtip, showing a confidence in each other that was borne of years of flying experience. Ecla knew it was Antilles and Celchu, but whether this was their usual style of flying, or if they were just showing off for an audience, she couldn't be sure. _Maybe a combination of both?_ she thought to herself, coughing to hide a giggle.

The area that had been set aside for them was in an awkward corner, just to the left of the huge doors. They would have to move into the center of the hangar, an area usually kept clear, then manoeuvre backwards into the corner. It was a tricky spot to land one ship at a time, but they seemed determined to land together, continuing into the hangar side by side.

Once in the center of the immense chamber, the two fighters turned in tandem, the tips of their S-foils still only about thirty centimetres apart. Ecla straightened, all of her attention now focused on the display of proficiency; it was like a dance being performed right in front of her, highly technical, yet beautiful. She couldn't help but admire them, her practiced eyes following every move, every minute correction or adjustment.

As they ended up side-on to the hangar entrance, the two fighters began a slight drift backwards, all the time keeping a tight formation. A small crowd had gathered now, mostly techs and other people on duty in the hangar. They stood on either side of Ecla's fighter, watching as two of the New Republic's most famous pilots put on a small show.

Their drift lessened and stopped as they came close to their parking sites. They began to slowly rotate a few more degrees into position, then move backwards, reversing into their places, stopping only about two meters from the rear wall. It was only then that Ecla noticed there were no techs guiding them. They were doing it all on their own.

As the two fighters settled to the ground, and the rumble of the repulsorlifts died, applause erupted from the people gathered around Ecla. She found herself just staring in awe.

"Show-offs," a voice said from her left. Ecla turned to see Major Klivian shaking his blonde head in mock disgust. He was smiling, no venom or jealousy in his remark; he had obviously seen this kind of thing before. Possibly even done it himself.

She looked back to where the fighters had landed. The canopies were open now, two helmeted pilots standing on their couches, calling back and forth to one another. "They are very proficient," she said simply.

"Sure. But do they have to flaunt it?" he replied, chuckling.

"I would," she answered seriously, before turning on her heel to head for the exit.

* * * * * * *

"I'm sure you would," Hobbie said more or less to himself, raising an eyebrow. He had planned to introduce himself to Flight Officer Idec, but she hadn't really given him much of a chance. He watched as she wound her way between people and machines, finally making it to the exit and disappearing through it.

"Did you say something?" Thras Nyl asked, coming up to Hobbie's right.

"Hmm? Oh, nothing," Hobbie responded, then turned towards his wingmate. "I was just talking to myself."

"I see. I think I'll head for the showers. Worked up quite a sweat in that run." Nyl scratched at his damp black hair with one hand, his helmet dangling from the other.

"I should think so. I know I was in a cold sweat when I saw that huge chunk heading for you. How would that look if I let my wingmate get crushed on our first training mission together?"

"Not the best thing to have on your record, I suppose." Thras offered Hobbie a wide, easy grin. He hoped that the ex-Imp was beginning to feel a little more at home. "I'll see you at the debriefing?"

"Yup, I'll be there," Hobbie smiled in return at his wingman. Thras moved past him, heading for the door. Hobbie watched as he too disappeared through it, following the course set by Ecla Idec, leaving him to wonder briefly when he would finally get to meet the pretty pilot he had managed to annoy in their very first conversation.


	9. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

"You ready yet?" Hobbie called to Wes through the door of the 'fresher in their quarters. "The rest of the Rogues will have drunk the place dry. I want to get there while the newbies are still buying!"

"I'm coming! Put yourself in standby for a second." Wes's voice was muffled, not quite making it completely through the closed door, but Hobbie could tell he was annoyed. He had been teasing Wes mercilessly since they'd returned from their training exercise earlier that day. His roommate and Hepat Avaan had indeed finished last, and the Tanaabian pilot was not happy about it, not in the slightest.

Hobbie looked at his reflection in the small mirror hanging to the left of the 'fresher door, just above their shared small set of drawers. He straightened the collar of his green tunic, trying to make it sit straight. He usually liked his clothes to be nice, but with just a hint of casual indifference as well, as if he'd just tossed it on without much thought. He wasn't sure if he was pulling it off or not, and the fact that he worried about it led him to believe that he wasn't.

He turned towards Wes as he came out of the 'fresher, and suddenly his own fashion sense didn't matter all that much. He had to try very hard not to laugh. "Wes, that is the most ridiculous looking shirt I've seen in a long time. Even for you!"

Wes looked down at the swirl of brown and purple on his tunic. "What?"

Hobbie just shook his head. "C'mon, lets go."

The pair made their way from the modest quarters they shared on base to the cantina that the Rogues had agreed to meet at. It had become a tradition, some time ago, that when new pilots joined the squadron, they had to buy the rest of the squadron drinks. It had grown from there into an excuse for a night out--not that they really needed an excuse--but it also served to welcome the new recruits, make them feel like part of the group. And in a squadron as tight as the Rogues, that was particularly important.

As they approached the cantina, located a couple of dozen levels below where they had started from, Hobbie played with his collar again, feeling a little uncomfortable; he wasn't sure why. Although he never really felt all that comfortable in group situations, he had known most of the Rogues for years. He wasn't sure why tonight was different from any other night.

He looked over at Wes, who was grinning from ear-to-ear in anticipation of the evening's festivities. Hobbie sighed quietly, knowing that their shirts contrasted as much as their personalities did. Wes was loud and outgoing, sometimes annoyingly so; although no one could ask for a more loyal and trustworthy friend. Hobbie, on the other hand, was more subdued, quiet, but liked the fact that by hanging out with Wes, he was usually guaranteed some kind of entertainment without having to make too much of an effort.

Hobbie just rolled his eyes, but then had to smile. _How sad is it that I rely on this immature degenerate for amusement?_

They pushed their way into the packed Shatterstar Cantina, looking at the faces around them. As usual, the Rogues were the loudest group and hard to miss. They took up several tables, two to four pilots at each, but still within talking distance. Hobbie was surprised to see that Wedge and Ajene were there, sitting with Tycho and Ooryl. Normally Wedge didn't attend these outings, or made an appearance followed by a quick escape. Their commander said that his presence sometimes made the 'kids' uneasy. He wondered what made this occasion different for Wedge.

Hobbie followed Wes, who elbowed his way through the crowd to stop at the first table, occupied by Inyri Forge, Myn Donos, and a woman with her back to them. Hobbie nearly groaned when he realized it was Ecla Idec, the pilot he had bumped into in the hangar earlier that afternoon. The uncomfortable feeling he had noted earlier blossomed into full-flowered anxiety.

Wes clamped his hands on Myn Donos' shoulders, standing behind him. "Hello, fellow pilots," he announced to no one in particular. "Wes Janson is here, so now the party can really get started."

Myn tilted his head back to look up at Wes. " 'Bout time you guys got here. And what in the name of the Sith are you _wearing_? I haven't seen a shirt that ugly since Lod, Fod and Dod left town."

Wes's grin widened, and it confirmed what Hobbie had suspected from the beginning. The only reason Wes was wearing that shirt was for just this type of reaction and attention. His roommate was never one to allow himself to fade into the background.

"I will have you know that my mother sent me this shirt," Wes sniffed haughtily, adjusting the top fastener. Myn just shook his head.

"Can I buy you boys a drink?"

Hobbie turned to look at Ecla Idec, who had asked the question. Although he'd seen her in the briefing room, then again in the sim room, and finally in the hangar, he was yet to get a chance to formally introduce himself. And now Hobbie found that he really wanted to meet her. In the hangar he'd tried to be funny to make a good impression on her, failing utterly to do either. He was just about to finally introduce himself when Wes jumped in.

"I don't think we've met, because I'm sure I would remember if we had," he said, giving her his most saccharine smile. "I'm Major Wes Janson, pilot extraordinaire. And you are?"

Ecla smiled back at Wes, and Hobbie noticed a dimple in her left cheek. He let his eyes wander across her face, taking in all kinds of details he had missed earlier. But when he felt his face start to burn, he looked away, unsure why he was blushing.

"Flight Officer Ecla Idec. Pleased to meet you, Major Janson." She extended her hand, and he took it with the obvious intention of kissing it. Before his lips got even half way to her hand, she gave his hand a small shake, then let go, leaving him hanging in mid-air. Wes just smiled at her again, unperturbed, as he straightened.

"Please, call me Wes," he said, and winked at her. Hobbie nearly rolled his eyes at the transparent flirtation.

Ecla turned to Hobbie as he pulled up a chair to her right and sat down at the table. She held out her hand, and Hobbie gave it a firm shake. "Derek Klivian," he said, more formally than he would have liked. "But, uh, most everyone calls me Hobbie," he quickly added.

"Ecla Idec, and most everyone calls me Ecla. Nice to officially meet you, Hobbie." She chuckled quietly, and Hobbie was electrified by her smile. He noticed how the blue of her shirt brought out a sparkle in her eyes as she asked him a question. "What's with the nickname?"

Wes laughed. "Don't ask. He might actually tell you and it's a loooooong story."

Hobbie skewered his friend with a glare, then the serving droid appeared to take their orders. Something caught Hobbie's eye, and he glanced beyond the serving droid to where Thras Nyl lurked in the shadowy entrance, looking distinctly uncomfortable, seemingly trying to decide which table to approach first. Hobbie smiled at his new wingmate and motioned for him to join them. A quick look of relief crossed Nyl's face before he moved closer.

"Have a seat, Thras," Hobbie said, sliding his chair to the left to make room for the former Imperial. Conveniently, it moved Hobbie closer to Ecla as well. Unfortunately Wes was on her other side, vying for her attention.

"What'll it be, Thras? After all, you're buying," Wes smirked at him.

Thras looked over some items on the holographic menu in the middle of the table, and made a selection. After the serving droid had been and gone again, Thras cleared his throat, looking around the bar. "I don't remember the last time I was in a cantina. Do you do this often?"

Wes chortled. "Not as often as we'd like."

"What Wes is trying to say, in his own juvenile way, is that we're usually off on some mission or another, and don't have the same opportunities as we do while stationed on Coruscant," Inyri Forge explained, eyeing Wes, then returning her gaze to Nyl. "So don't get too used to it."

"What made you want to join our merry band of misfits, Thras? Is it okay if we call you Thras?" Myn asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Please do," the former TIE pilot replied with a tight, uncertain smile. "And I wanted to join the Rogues because you are the best there is. What better way to prove one's skill than going into battle with such a group of pilots?"

"Okay, he can stay," Wes said, nodding his approval. "As long as he keeps buying, that is." Wes set down his empty glass and signalled for the server. He leaned over and took hold of Ecla's hand. "And would you like something else to drink? My treat, this time."

"Um, no, thank you," she answered, slipping her hand out from under his. "I think that it'd be best if I kept my wits about me--especially with you here." She laughed as Wes's mouth dropped open and he placed a carefully practiced wounded expression on his face.

"Hobbie!" he exclaimed. "You forgot to remind me to bring my charisma with me. That can be the only explanation of how this beautiful woman can resist me."

Hobbie put his elbow on the table, leaning his forehead on his palm. Why was Wes always like this around women? How many times had Hobbie met or seen an attractive woman and been prohibited from even talking to her because of Wes's behavior? But Hobbie was spared the effort of trying to reign Wes in, as Ecla spoke up for herself. "Wes, although I hesitate to tell you this for fear it may encourage you, you are cute. But trust me, I have no interest in getting to know you in _that_ way."

Wes snorted and clutched at his chest in a dramatic fashion. "Your aim is excellent. You should be a sniper."

"He's harmless, really," Hobbie offered apologetically. "Once you get to know him, you'll realize that if he was half as talented with women as he is in a cockpit, he wouldn't still be single."

Almost everyone around the table laughed, including Wes. Even Thras smiled. But Hobbie wasn't really paying attention to them. His focus was on Ecla. And the more he thought about it, the more he wanted _her _focus to be on _him_. She looked over at him, and their gazes locked. She broke the contact first, and he thought he detected the hint of a blush.

Hey...maybe Wes hasn't screwed this up for me after all.

* * * * * * *

"Well, would you look at that," Ajene said, glancing over the rim of her glass.

Wedge followed her line of sight to the overcrowded table where Wes, Hobbie, Ecla, Myn, Inyri and Thras sat. "What?"

Ajene laughed and tucked her arm around Wedge. "Looks like Bacta-Boy is hitting on one of your new pilots. Don't you teach them any manners?"

"Hobbie?" Tycho said, twisting obviously in his seat to get a better view. "I'm surprised Wes didn't beat him to it."

"Oh, he tried," Ajene snickered. "Vaped on the first pass. And the second."

Tycho snickered. "I have this insane vision of Ecla's X-wing with tiny Wes heads painted all along the side."

Ooryl looked puzzled. "Major, how can you tell all that from this distance?"

Ajene put down her glass, using her hands to try and help explain to their Gand friend. "You see, Ooryl, it's all in the body language. Look at the way Hobbie's leaning towards her as she speaks, like he's hanging on every word. And usually when you talk to someone, you look them in the eye. Hobbie's eyes are all over the place, studying and admiring. But he's doing it the right way, not being nearly as obvious as Wes."

"No one's as obvious as Wes," Tycho said with a sneer, turning his attention back to his own table.

"And we are all better off for it," Ooryl replied, his mandibles audibly clicking, even over the sounds of the busy cantina. Ooryl sometimes had a fairly limited grasp of human interactions and emotions, and humor had been hardest for him to pick up. Corran had been trying to teach him the simplest aspects, and it seemed to be paying off, but the learning curve was still a steep one.

Wedge had to chuckle at the Gand's attempt at a joke. "Well, maybe Hobbie'll have better luck." He thought about that, then laughed. "Oh, who am I kidding? Since when does Hobbs have any luck at anything?"

Ajene nudged him in the ribs. "Be nice." As Wedge rubbed at his side, Ajene grinned and leaned over to kiss him quickly on the mouth.

"You know, Wedge, you never answered my question," Tycho said, taking a sip of his Corellian whiskey.

"Oh, why I came tonight?"

"Yeah. You don't usually."

Wedge just shrugged his shoulders. "I guess I just wanted..." He shook his head, unable to express in words what his feelings told him. Ajene tightened her grip on his hand; she knew what it was. She knew that after his experience at the hands of Moff Tchlinda and Admiral Turpa, he'd wanted to decrease the emotional distance between himself and his friends, just as he had done with her--to really try and get all the enjoyment out of life that he could. He was acutely aware that there was a greater possibility of being hurt that way--that there was always the chance that he could get close to someone, and they could betray him, or get themselves killed--but his greatest fear was to be alone again, exactly as he had been before Ajene came into his life. He couldn't go back to that Wedge again. Yes, he had friends before, but how close had he been to any of them? He'd distanced himself from so many people. He wanted to take a chance now, to get to know them, to enjoy them for who they were.

"You know what us Corellians are like," he finished off with instead. "We can't pass up free drinks."

Tycho laughed, but Wedge could tell that he didn't quite believe him, that he knew there was more to it than that. But he kept quiet about it.

For now, at least.

* * * * * * *

"Wedge is here?" Mirax turned towards Corran as they entered the cantina together.

Corran looked over to where Wedge sat with Ajene, Tycho, and Ooryl. "He did say he was planning on coming."

"As far back as I can remember, Wedge has never stayed at one of these little gatherings," Mirax said thoughtfully. "That's if he even showed up."

"I know, but recently he's been..."

Corran trailed off, his thought left incomplete, but Mirax couldn't leave it at that. She narrowed her eyes and fixed her husband with a stare. "He's been what?"

Corran shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know... He's been...friendly." She burst out laughing as Corran tried to correct himself. "That's not quite what I meant. He's been more open towards us. Not that he wasn't before, you understand. Just that now, he's...well, friendly. Oh, I don't know, okay! He's just...different!"

Mirax kissed him quickly, then led him over to a table occupied by Varnestra and Hepat Avaan. Ooryl waved to Corran and left his place with Wedge and Tycho to join them, Corran's wing, as always.

And at that point, Corran figured he needed all the help he could get.

* * * * * * *

"He's here, sir. With his...group."

Rozrrom glanced up from the terminal on his desk as Gherr Larrdin made the announcement. "His group?"

"Yes, sir." Gherr stated matter-of-factly, but with the definite hint of a sneer on his face. "He has ten aides with him."

"First impressions are exceedingly important, Gherr," Rozrrom replied with a nod, closing down his console. "I learned that a long time ago. It's good to know that he is aware of this also. He may be more intelligent than I believed."

"I doubt that, sir," the colonel replied with a sly smile. "In any case, how many 'aides' would you like to have present?"

Rozrrom's mouth spread into a grin. "You read my mind. I think...twelve will do. Just enough to prove who is really in charge here."

"Yes, sir."

"Set it up, Gherr. Ten minutes, main briefing room."

"Yes, sir."

It was in fact a full thirty minutes before Rozrrom deigned to enter the briefing room. As with the rest of the base, the room was hollowed out of indigenous rock. It contained a large oval table, grand enough to seat ten people down either side, plus one at each end. But, as Rozrrom had known he would, Gherr had prevented any of the aides in either group to actually sit at the table. So they stood in a line along either wall, the guests on one side, Rozrrom's on the other.

Gherr stood at the midway point of the table in front of the twelve aides. Rozrrom entered, standing behind the chair at the opposite end of their guest, closest to the door. Their visitor was at the far end of the table, seated and idly tapping his fingers against the polished surface. Jarice Cright, current commander of the Victory Star Destroyer _Querulous._ The very ship that had ambushed and captured Wedge Antilles. Previously it had belonged to the Imperial Navy, under the command of Admiral Turpa, but when the Rogues liberated Arramsetti III, Cright had fled, taking _Querulous_ with him. He hadn't returned to the Empire, and presumably had gone into business for himself. Or had tried to.

"It was unclear from your message," Rozrrom began, "as to how you should be addressed. Do you remain a Commander? Or have you been 'promoted' to a rank befitting your situation? Should it, perhaps, be Admiral Cright?"

_Querulous's_ commander had risen when Rozrrom entered, a show of respect that the general enjoyed. As he addressed the former Imperial, the taller man bowed his head in a further show of manners, his close-cropped black hair neatly swept back, his uniform immaculate. It was very close in cut to an Imperial uniform, Rozrrom noted, but was free of insignia or rank.

"As we are no longer... affiliated with the Imperial Navy," Cright said, his voice pleasant and confident, "I have chosen to, as you say, accept a rank befitting my situation. Admiral Cright will suffice. For now."

_Overconfident. Good, I can exploit that._ "Very well, Admiral. I am pleased to welcome you to Enmity. I would impress upon you the great risk I have taken in revealing its location to you."

Once again, Cright's head bowed, as he acknowledged the trust that Rozrrom had placed in him. It was not as deep a trust as it might have been, since Rozrrom knew that Cright had little choice but to pitch his lot in with him. Cright was wanted throughout the Empire for desertion and a host of other charges, the least of which was _stealing_ a Victory-class Star Destroyer. If he was ever caught, the best he could expect was to be executed. He may yet be executed, but at Rozrrom's hand; the leader of the Inexorables would go to great lengths to protect his favorite and most secret base.

"I appreciate your faith in me, and my courageous crew," Cright said, his voice carefully modulated to feign an air of aristocracy and good breading. Rozrrom knew better.

"So, your message implied that you wished to join our little group," Rozrrom finally took his seat. Cright likewise sat, a fraction of a second later. "What exactly are you offering?"

That seemed to catch Cright off-guard for a moment. "Well, I'm offering _Querulous_, of course."

"And?"

"And, General? I'm not sure I--"

"And what else do you offer, Cright?" Rozrrom asked, his voice booming through the stone chamber. "Are your men willing to work with the Inexorables? Are you willing to obey my commands? I demand complete loyalty and obedience, Cright. _Complete._"

The echo of his last word diminished into silence, and still Cright watched Rozrrom, considering. He hadn't showed any fear. Yet. That would have to change. "General, the word complete can be open to...interpretation. I'm sure if we talk for a moment, we can come to some kind of mutually beneficial compromise--"

Rozrrom's blaster cleared leather before Cright could finish the last syllable of compromise. He aimed and fired in the same moment, catching the first in line of Cright's aides, the one closest to the General, point blank in the belly. The woman crumpled to the stone floor, curled into a ball and moaning.

"I do_ not_ compromise, Cright. I _command_! Something you would do well to understand immediately."

Cright managed to tear his eyes away from the dying woman, finally looking a little frantically back at Rozrrom. And the Inexorables leader finally saw fear in those eyes, as he had wanted to, as he _knew_ he eventually would. He had done significant research on Cright, from his days as a junior officer, to the last moments of the battle over Arramsetti III; from his military reprimands, to the details of the time that Cright was 'missing' with _Querulous_. One thing was very clear--at his heart, the most important thing to the 'Admiral' was saving his own skin.

"So, I ask again," Rozrrom said, breaking the quiet that had settled on the group once the felled aide had quickly succumbed to her injuries. "What do you have to offer me, _Admiral_ Cright?"

"I-I... I have much to offer," Cright said, trying to settle his voice. "I have my ship, my crew, and forty-seven TIE Fighters and Interceptors. Fourteen of which need parts in order to be flight worthy. Most of them also need fuel and armaments."

Rozrrom nodded. "That is a start. Are you well supplied otherwise? What condition is your Star Destroyer in?"

Cright straightened the front of his uniform jacket, vainly trying to regain his lost composure. "We have enough supplies for three weeks, both food and materials. Ten of _Querulous's_ decks have been closed off, life support terminated, due to lack of resources. Hyperdrive and sublight engines are in fair condition."

"Have you engaged in battle since Arramsetti III?" Rozrrom asked mildly.

"No, sir. We were in hiding mostly, seeking supplies."

Rozrrom nodded again. "Cright, I again tell you that I demand complete loyalty and obedience from everyone in my group. Do you agree to this?"

"General, I must say that--"

In a blur of movement, Rozrrom's blaster was aimed at the next of Cright's aides in line. He didn't fire, but the aide collapsed anyway, huddled on the floor with his hands over his head. "I ask for your complete loyalty and obedience," he said again, very quietly. "It's a yes or no question."

_Yes, you live, no, you die. It cannot be simpler than that, you idiot._

"Y-Yes," Cright managed, staring not at the aide, nor Rozrrom, but at the blaster.

_Yes, you understand that this could as easily be aimed at you_. Rozrrom holstered his blaster, and motioned to Larrdin. "Colonel, the refreshments. Admiral Cright and I have a union to celebrate. Oh, and get rid of the body."


	10. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Wedge wrapped his left arm a little tighter around Ajene's waist, kissing her shoulder lightly. He still had another ten minutes before he absolutely _had_ to get up, and he wanted to spend every minute he could with her. Especially since he was shipping out later that very morning, and had no idea how long he'd be away this time.

The Rogues flew practice missions for ten days before Admiral Ackbar inquired if Wedge was confident enough in his new pilots to return the squadron to active duty. Wedge told his Commander-in-Chief that he was, and orders came through later that day for them to resume regular duties. Which meant leaving Coruscant again, and Ajene.

"Mmm...that feels good," Ajene purred as he kissed up to her neck. "So, you gonna miss me while you're gone?"

"I already do," he replied, leaning over to kiss her gently on the mouth.

"What's your schedule for today?" she inquired quietly. She'd asked once already.

"Meeting with Ackbar in less than an hour, mission briefing about an hour after that. We'll be flying up to meet the fleet as soon as that's over."

"And how long will you be gone this time?" she asked, pulling out of his arms as she sat up, her back to him as she hugged her knees. Wedge slumped onto his back. Even though he couldn't see her face, he could hear the shadow of grief in her voice. He could understand it, feeling somewhat upset about it himself.

It was only when Wedge had returned from his last mission to find empty apartments that he'd realized how lonely it was without her, and therefore that she must miss him terribly when he was gone. She was frequently left behind, sometimes with very little notice; not only alone, but also worrying about his safety. That was one of the painful parts of their jobs. Not only where they often separated, but usually in danger of some sort or another as well. There were few professions more dangerous than that of a pilot, or a special forces agent, for that matter. They both understood that, of course, even when they initiated a relationship--he, as well as she, would often be called away--but it didn't make it hurt any less.

Wedge sat up, caressing her bare back with his hand. "I don't know how long this time. And if I did, I probably couldn't tell you. Jene, I have to go, and you know that. It's not like I want to leave you."

She looked over her shoulder at him. "I know. I'm sorry, Wedge. It's just that...well, more and more I have a hard time sharing you with Starfighter Command. I want to keep you all to myself."

Wedge nodded agreement. "Just as I have trouble sharing you with Special Forces. Not knowing where you are or what you're doing keeps me up at night sometimes, worrying whether you're safe or not. But we both knew this would happen when we got together. Our jobs are a big part of our lives, but we have to keep them from becoming our _entire_ lives."

"I knew there was a reason I loved you," she said, lying back down and pulling him down beside her. "You're so brilliant and perceptive."

"And here I thought it was for my good looks," he replied, kissing her left wrist, then wrapping his arms around her to pull her closer.

"In your dreams, Antilles," she teased with a smile.

At that moment, the alarm on the other side of Ajene went off for the second time, reminding them that Wedge really needed to get up. He rolled towards the chrono, his upper body hovering over the top of her, his weight on his right forearm. As he lowered himself to kiss her, his left hand reached out and slapped off the alarm. "I'll shower first," he murmured against her lips.

"Fine, go then," she said with feigned indifference.

"Or... You could come with me. Most efficient use of time."

Before she could protest, he rolled again and was on his feet. Grabbing Ajene by the hand, he dragged her into the 'fresher.

* * * * * * * *

Wedge arrived five minutes before the meeting was scheduled to begin, but was still the last one to enter the room. Just inside the door, he came to attention and stood with his back rigidly straight. But his eyes surveyed the people around the large oval table, in Admiral Ackbar's private office.

Around the table sat not only the Admiral himself, but two other men as well. One of them Wedge recognized as General Airen Cracken, head of Intelligence for the New Republic. The other was unfamiliar to Wedge, but wore the rank insignia and uniform of an Admiral in Fleet Command.

"Ah, General Antilles," Ackbar said in his characteristic gurgling voice. "Please come in and sit down."

Wedge relaxed his posture somewhat and approached the only available seat, on General Cracken's left, facing the unknown Admiral and Ackbar.

"General Antilles, I would like to introduce Admiral Andel Fedra. He will be the commander of the fleet we will be sending out to settle the Rozrrom issue once and for all. The Rogues will be stationed on the _Starlight_, his flagship, for the next little while, alongside three other fighter squadrons."

Wedge saluted, then offered his hand across the table to Admiral Fedra. The Admiral's grip was strong, his green eyes bright under dark lashes. He looked young for an Admiral, Wedge thought, but that didn't mean much since Wedge looked younger than his thirty years as well. "Pleased to meet you, Admiral Fedra."

"It is an honor to meet _you_, General," the Admiral replied, a broad and sincere smile lighting his eyes further. "I've heard a lot about you, and look forward to working with you and your group."

"General Cracken, if you could please begin the briefing," Ackbar said, his large eyes swivelling towards the Contruum native.

"Of course, Admiral." As Wedge took his seat, Cracken took out his datapad and plugged it into a socket built into the table. After punching some keys, the lights in the room dimmed, and a holo about a meter high appeared at the center of the foursome. It was the full image of a man, his hair grizzled and cut short. His eyes were close set and Wedge could read a great deal of malice in them. His mouth was small, and looked like it could twist into a snarl with hardly any effort. All this, and so much more, added up to General Selr Rozrrom.

"I think we're all familiar with this man," Cracken began, "so I won't bore you with biographical details. Suffice to say that we need to stop him. In the last three months, he's talked, bullied or coerced several planets into 'enjoying' his protection. Meanwhile, he loots the planet for supplies and valuable commodities, increasing his personal wealth and enabling him to finance the Inexorables. What his plans are for the long-term future are unclear."

"Now, what we do know for sure is that he has his Imperial-class Star Destroyer, _Nefarious_, as well as the Lancer-class frigate he took from the Imperials a few standard months ago. According to reports, he has transferred his command to the frigate. We aren't sure why he did this, what advantage he thinks it gives him."

"I assume, General," Wedge interrupted, "that something has happened to force us to take Rozrrom on sooner rather than later?"

Cracken raised an eyebrow at Wedge. "Perceptive as ever, General Antilles. Makes me wish that you had come over to Intelligence when I asked you to." The General chuckled, then continued. "As _Rogue_ Leader has pointed out, there's been a recent development that's been brought to our attention, and has moved our plans up a bit."

Wedge raised an eyebrow and smiled at the stress Cracken put on his Rogue designation, not-so-subtly hinting that Wedge was wasting his talents as the leader of a squadron, or even several squadrons. As usual, though, Wedge just found it amusing. He knew where he belonged, where he could do the most good, and where he was happiest.

But as the General hit a button on his datapad, Wedge's smile faded. His eyes widened as the holo changed from Rozrrom to a Star Destroyer; but it wasn't Rozrrom's _Nefarious_, or just any Destroyer. Wedge recognized the configuration of the command tower, the marks on her hull--he had seen this ship recently: in his nightmares.

"That's the _Querulous_," Wedge murmured, almost before he'd formed the name in his mind.

Cracken nodded, seemingly unaware of the significance of the ship and the effect it was having on at least one occupant of the room. "We tried to track the _Querulous_ after the Rogues drove her out of the Arramsetti system, during their rescue mission several months ago. We know that Commander Jarice Cright was in charge when she fled, but we were unable to discover where he took the Victory-class Destroyer. It was speculated that he went out towards the Rim, trying to get the ship repaired, maybe even replace some of its TIEs through less than official channels, especially since Cright couldn't go back to the Empire. He essentially deserted his post, taking a very expensive ship with him, but until yesterday, we didn't know for sure where the ship was. Until it attacked a convoy, Rozrrom's frigate with it, in the Serolis system. It would seem that _Querulous_ has allied herself with the Inexorables. Whether they're being paid or have joined him voluntarily, we don't know."

"So, we can reasonably assume that..."

Wedge sat in staggered silence, only half-listening to Cracken's briefing, staring at the holo hovering not more than a half-meter in front of him. He had thought--no, he'd _hoped_ that he would never see the _Querulous_ again, that the ship had been destroyed somewhere, somehow. But here it was, returning to haunt him, just as the nightmares and memories did.

"General Antilles?" Ackbar repeated, forcing Wedge to tear his gaze from the holo. He discovered that he wasn't sure how much time had passed, or how much he'd missed. But from the tone, Wedge was sure this was not the first time Ackbar had said his name.

"Uh…Sorry, sir."

"Are you all right, General?"

Wedge took in a deep breath, avoiding the bulbous gaze of his commander. "Yes, Admiral."

"Shall I repeat the question?"

"Please, Admiral," Wedge said, feeling his face begin to burn as he gathered his scattered thoughts.

"Is your squadron ready to leave for the _Starlight_?"

It was more a question of courtesy than anything else, since Wedge had already received orders to ship out, but some traditions had to be upheld. "Yes, sir. I'll be briefing them before we depart, but I've given them advance notice that we'll be shipping out later this morning."

"Good. A revised and more detailed set of orders have been transferred to you for review. You will be in charge of all squadrons traveling with the fleet. Admiral Fedra is fully briefed, so you can ask him any questions you may have. If there is nothing else, I think this meeting is adjourned."

"There is one thing, sirs," Wedge added, and General Cracken had to retake his seat. "From what you've stated here, with the addition of a Vic-Star Destroyer, our fleet and that of Rozrrom are rather evenly matched, assuming that he doesn't have anything else up his sleeve. Wouldn't it be prudent to get us more ships? More fighters?"

There were shared glances around the table, and it was Ackbar who finally responded, his voice even more raspy than usual. "It _would_ be prudent, General, except that we do not have the additional forces to add. The extended war with Grand Admiral Thrawn sorely taxed our resources, in both equipment and man power. And what we do have is spread too thin as it is. I can assure you that If we had not been so overstretched, we more than likely would not have lost those planets to Rozrrom in the first place."

Cracken nodded his agreement. "Starfighter production is as slow as ever. Incom and Dodonna-Blissex are taking their customary care in each X-wing and A-wing that comes off the assembly line. We actually have classes of graduating pilots with no ships. The only reason you received replacements for your previous losses was because those pilots are veterans who come with their own ships already assigned."

Wedge nodded, absorbing and filing new information as best he could while his emotions still swirled in turmoil. "Thank you, Admiral. General Cracken. Admiral Fedra." Wedge stood, saluted, and made a hasty retreat from the ghostly holo that still wavered above the table.

* * * * * * * *

Tycho found Wedge sitting alone in the briefing room, his forehead leaning on his crossed arms, arms leaning on the table in front of him.

"Wedge?"

He looked up at Tycho, rubbing at his temples with the thumb and fingers of his right hand, as if to ease away a headache. "Yeah, what now?"

"Uh… You all right?"

"I'm fine. What do you need?"

"Well… We have a briefing in ten minutes," Tycho said, eyebrows raised.

"Right," Wedge replied distractedly.

"You had your meeting with Admiral Ackbar?"

"Yup."

Tycho frowned at Wedge. "You sure you're okay?"

"Looks like Rozrrom has added a new ship to his fleet," Wedge said flatly.

Tycho knew this wasn't good news, but it shouldn't have been enough to visibly upset his friend to this point. "And?"

"It's _Querulous_."

Tycho blew out a long breath as he slumped slightly. _Well, that explains a lot._ He moved over to a chair, pulling it over to sit down beside his friend. "I often wondered what happened to her," he said quietly.

"Yeah, me too."

"How do you feel about this?" Tycho asked. Wedge looked over at him, and Tycho could see various emotions cross his commander's face. The _Querulous_ was the ship that had ambushed Wedge. He had been severely beaten not once, but twice on board her, and it was the ship that had delivered him into the clutches of Moff Tchlinda. Wedge hadn't really shared with Tycho a lot of what happened to him during that time, but Ajene told him about it, and Wedge's reaction to it, mostly because she wanted Tycho to keep an eye on him. What Wedge had been through would have been enough to break anyone, but for some reason Wedge felt it'd been a personal failure on his part to succumb to the pain and suffering he had been forced to endure over five days of torture.

He saw Wedge take a deep breath, his mask of professionalism slipping back into place, but with a little bit more effort than usual. "I'm fine with it, really. I… Well, I guess I just hoped I'd never see that ship again."

Tycho shook his head. Wedge was pushing him away again, trying to keep his feelings private and buried, and Tycho couldn't help but feel hurt that Wedge wouldn't confide in him. Since Wedge had been rescued, it seemed to Tycho that his friend was doing what he always did: to deal with the pain, Wedge decided not to deal with it at all, pushing it aside for the moment or forever. _That way it doesn't plague him anymore. But I can't help but think it'll rear its ugly head when he least expects it. And that could spell trouble for all of us._

Tycho wanted to be able to find the words to make his friend see what he was doing, or to say something, anything, that would make him open up and talk about it. "Me too," he said instead, plugging in his datapad to prepare for the briefing.

* * * * * * *

Hobbie knelt under his fighter, trying to stuff one last shapeless bag into the storage compartment of his X-wing. The bag refused to cooperate, and Hobbie swore that if Wes asked him to pack anything else for him, he'd hit him over the head with it.

What can he possibly have in these bags that he needs so much?

Thoughts of how much equipment his roommate probably needed to play his legendary practical jokes flitted through Hobbie's mind as he finally managed to squeeze the last bag into a corner. When he heard booted feet approach him from behind, he growled as he pivoted on one knee. "Wes, if you have anything else, I swear--oops."

Suddenly the collar of Hobbie's flightsuit was too tight, and he hooked a finger inside it, giving it a tug. Ecla Idec smiled down at him, bent at the waist as she stood under the lower S-foil of Hobbie's ship. She was wearing her New Republic orange flightsuit, her helmet under one arm, balanced against her hip. Hobbie clambered to his feet, hitting the switch to close the stuffed hold.

"I was just passing by," Ecla said, backing away slightly as he reached his feet, "and it looked like you could use a hand. But I see you have everything under control."

Her smile was luminous and friendly, Hobbie thought, then realized that he wasn't listening to what she was saying. He tried to cover his lapse in attention with a generic response. "Uh, see you up on _Starlight?"_

"I look forward to it, Hobbie," she said, starting past him, then continuing on towards her own fighter. She glanced over her shoulder at him before climbing up the ladder to hop into her cockpit.

Hobbie rolled his eyes, then leaned his forehead against the smooth metal surface of his ship, bouncing his skull off it once, sure that he was out of Ecla's line of sight. _Idiot__!_ he berated himself. _See you on the_ Starlight_ is the best you can come up with? What kind of lame excuse for a male are you?!_

Shaking his head, Hobbie picked his helmet up off the hangar floor and headed for his ladder. He caught sight of Wes crossing towards him, so he jumped up the rungs two at a time, sprang over the side of his ship, and immediately closed his canopy. As Wes glared at him from the ground, Hobbie just stuck his tongue out at him.


	11. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Colonel Larrdin walked down the long hallway leading to General Rozrrom's private sanctuary on Enmity, rehearsing what he would say to his commander. Even though he was the general's right hand man, with authority over hundreds of thousands of men, he still felt more than a little intimidated by their leader. He had seen Rozrrom turn on a crewmember and nearly tear him limb from limb for the tiniest of infractions, then return to his meal as if nothing had happened. Earlier this very day, he'd seen him kill Cright's aide in cold blood, just to prove a point. That, in his opinion, was enough to intimidate anyone!

Yes, he was scared of Rozrrom, but he had to admit that Rozrrom held _real_ power. Not the political power that most men seemed to cherish--making laws that were never enforced, or spending their days in never-ending arguments over philosophical issues. There were no discussions in the Inexorables. None.

They had enough firepower and men to sway any planet they chose to. And they_ had_ brought them over, adding to Inexorable's growing reputation. They'd taken supplies, weapons, and ships, thumbing their nose at the New Republic. All because Rozrrom had complete command, utter loyalty, and was a tactical genius, in Gherr's opinion.

Reaching the end of the hallway, Larrdin nodded to the general's bodyguards, standing at attention on either side of the entrance. When he tried to approach the door itself, they moved to block him, crossing their blaster rifles in front of him. "The general does not wish to be disturbed," the taller one announced.

Larrdin raised himself up to his full height, but still didn't manage to reach the shoulders of the shorter of the two guards. He cleared his throat, reaching for an authoritative tone. "I have important news for him. He will want to hear this immediately."

The guard eyed him doubtfully. Ever since Rozrrom had started his war against the New Republic and spies had been discovered within his organization, the general's personal guards had become extremely protective of him. Even Larrdin, who had been with him for four long years, was under constant suspicion.

"Stand there," the guard finally said, pointing to a spot further down the hall. Larrdin retreated back the way he had come, feeling extremely insignificant, as the guard moved towards a communication device installed in the wall beside the door. He spoke into it for a few moments, as the second guard watched Larrdin warily, before he was motioned forward. "He will see you now."

Larrdin just nodded, and passed between the two guards. He pushed through the heavy wooden door into Rozrrom's sanctum. It was dark, the only illumination a circle of light a meter wider in diameter than the general's huge, round bed. That was where he was lounging, a scantily clad woman on either side of him.

"This had better be important, Gherr."

"It is, sir." Larrdin swallowed. He hated it when he interrupted one of the general's 'sessions'. He never knew how he would react to the interruption. "We have received a communication from the special agent you--" Rozrrom held up a hand, and Larrdin immediately fell silent.

"Ladies, I think it best you leave us for now," the general said, accompanied by a dismissive wave of his hand.

Larrdin ogled the women as they gathered up some of their clothes and headed for a door to the right of the bed, seemingly relieved at the interruption. Larrdin had never seen what was on the other side of the door that Rozrrom's women always used.

"Continue, Gherr," he said, and Larrdin whipped his head back around.

"The spy has sent a communication through the method you suggested, sir, confirming the receipt of payment and the orders."

"Excellent!" Rozrrom exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. "Anything else?"

"Yes, sir. Rogue Squadron has been returned to active duty, aboard a Mon Calamari cruiser called _Starlight_. It is part of a small fleet of five capital ships and four squadrons of fighter craft, apparently on a mission to destroy you."

"Ha! This is turning out to be quite amusing, Gherr. I think I'm going to enjoy the slow death of Rogue Squadron. Get Cright and the others down to my office; I want a briefing in twenty minutes."

"Yes, sir," Larrdin replied, and suddenly felt a pang of pity for Rogue Squadron. They had taken on a formidable enemy, had a spy within their midst, and didn't even know it. Rozrrom was right. This was going to be fun.

* * * * * * * *

The quarters Wedge was assigned on _Starlight_ were huge, befitting his rank and position as commander of four full squadrons, but entirely too big to suit him personally. There was the main area, which contained a small desk and chair, a table to either eat or work at, and a bed, not a bunk, large enough to fit two people comfortably. There was even a small kitchenette for making simple meals, and he had a closet with enough space to house several jawa's comfortably. His refresher station was almost the same size as a Flight Officer's quarters, and they had to share!

_Okay, that's a little bit of an exaggeration, but it's still pretty big_, he thought as he dumped the small bag containing his datapad, notes, and various other things on the bed, next to an amorphous bag holding his clothes and toiletries. Just beyond the foot of his bed was a door that led to an adjoining room, a small office for him to use while he was based on the _Starlight_.

He wandered over to the view port, which offered a spectacular view of Coruscant, the metropolis-planet far below their orbit. He could see several shuttles exiting Coruscant's second planetary shield and approaching in standard convoy formation, probably bringing up last minute crew or provisions to the small fleet. _And down there somewhere is Ajene_, he mused, memories of their last moments together bubbling up to the surface of his mind. He sighed quietly.

There was a knock at his door, and he turned back towards the room. "Come in." The door opened and Tycho walked in. He gave a quick salute, which Wedge returned, then wandered over to his commanding officer. Both men looked out on Coruscant through their own reflections.

"Everyone find their quarters all right?" Wedge asked with the barest side-glance at Tycho.

The Rogue's second nodded, his reflection wavering in the transparisteel of the view port. "Yup. I don't think they're too happy about the location, but they'll just have to suffer through it. The ship is pretty much at capacity."

Wedge turned to look at him. "Location?"

Tycho looked over at him briefly before turning back to the window. "Yeah, most of the kids are down by the galley on deck nine. There's a little bit of a... How shall I put this? Sometimes it smells."

Wedge sighed. "Tell me that Wes and Hobbie aren't down there."

"Of course they are," Tycho replied, smirking at Wedge before looking out the view port again.

"I won't hear the end of this for months, you know."

"I know."

"_You_ put them down there."

"Now that you mention it, I do seem to recall being involved in that decision," Tycho chuckled.

"Do you really want the wrath of Wedge Antilles falling on your head?"

"I'm not worried," Tycho said with a smirk. "Besides, it doesn't stink all the time. Depends what's on the menu for that day. And there's the added advantage of being close to the ready rooms and hangar."

"Anything else to report?" Wedge asked after simultaneously releasing a deep breath and rolling his eyes.

"Yes, actually. Just got this mission update from Admiral Fedra. Nawara gave it to me when I saw him in the hangar."

Wedge took the datacard from Tycho, then pulled out his datapad. Turning it on, he slipped the card into a slot on the side. After entering several passwords and his encryption override, he pulled up the file. Wedge scanned through it quickly then looked up at Tycho. "Same old, same old," he said, passing the pad over to his friend.

Tycho glanced over the text, then looked up at Wedge. "Great."

* * * * * * *

Tycho met Wedge again later in the day, this time in his small office next to his commander's quarters. Rogue Squadron's leader had been in meetings with Admiral Fedra for most of the afternoon, firming up the plan that had been sent down from Admiral Ackbar's office. There was a pilot briefing scheduled in fifteen minutes--the second of the day for the Rogues.

They left the office together and headed down a series of corridors, aiming for a turbolift that would carry them up to the deck that held the briefing room. "So, anything I should know about?" Tycho asked.

Wedge looked over at him as they approached the bank of lifts. "Nothing that you don't already know. The three squadrons I'm commanding are Eclipse, Starburst, and Moonflight. Hagla was rotated back to Commenor, and Starburst is replacing them. So I think--"

Tycho smiled as he cut off his friend. "You know, it occurs to me that Starburst is commanded by--"

"Yes, it is," Wedge said, cutting Tycho off in turn. "No more comments."

Tycho shrugged. "I wasn't going to say anything."

"Yes, you were, or you wouldn't have pointed it out," Wedge replied, eyeing him coolly.

Tycho smiled innocently as they exited the turbolift and walked down to the door that led to Briefing Room D. "This should be interesting," he said, rubbing his hands together.

"Do you like watching me suffer?"

"Not usually. But on special occasions, yes."

Wedge sighed as the hatch opened to admit them. This particular briefing room was the largest on _Starlight_, and the only one that could accommodate four squadrons of pilots, as it did now. The entire population of the room stood as Wedge entered, coming to attention. The commanding officers of the three squadrons, two men and one woman, rose from their seats on the dais, saluting as the two men advanced towards them. Wedge motioned for all of the pilots to be seated, then he and Tycho returned the salutes of the commanders, letting everyone be at ease.

Although each of the squadrons had their own commanding officers, Wedge was in charge of the entire fighter compliment staging from the fleet. Each of the commanders would receive his orders when on a mission, and pass them on to their flight leaders, and so on. They would also report to him anything of importance that he should know about. In the case of the Rogues, although Wedge was still technically in charge, Tycho would be take battle-command while Wedge focused on the entire fighter group.

There was an even split between the four squadrons, two being A-wings, the other two X-wings. Of the A-wings, Eclipse Squadron was commanded by Colonel Grehig Wallt. Wedge had first met him a number of years before when the then captain had been an Executive Officer, and was pleased to see he had been given his own command, knowing that the Colonel was a good and capable officer. He'd gone on to prove that many times since.

The other A-wing unit, Moonflight Squadron, was led by Commander Apel Nado. Wedge had never met him before Moonflight had been assigned to the previous mission against Rozrrom. They were a competent group, eager and skilled. Nado had come up with an ambitious plan when their group had met Rozrrom over Belazzi II. If not for that plan, their forces might not have escaped the star system, and after that Wedge had made a mental note to consult Nado more when they were in the planning stages for missions.

The second X-wing group, Starburst Squadron, was commanded by Colonel Shara Dran. She walked up to Wedge, standing in front of him, gazing directly into his eyes. That direct approach made him slightly uncomfortable; it always had.

"Nice to see you again, General."

Wedge could feel his face flush slightly, and he saw Tycho quietly smirking in his peripheral vision. Shara was an old friend, from Wedge's early days with the Rebellion. She'd been an engineer that he'd taught to fly, somewhere between the battles of Yavin and Endor, and she'd demonstrated a surprising amount of skill. Since pilots were needed desperately, she'd been transferred to a fighter squadron, effectively ending a brief romantic relationship between them. Shara rose quickly through the ranks after Endor, becoming the first woman to ever command an A-wing squadron in the New Republic. He hadn't kept in touch with her that much since then, but had followed her career with interest. This was the first time he'd seen her in over five years.

"Nice to see you too, Shara. You look...well."

She smiled at him. "Thank you." She shook her head. "A general. I knew one day you'd rise to the top."

"You just never figured on having to work _for_ me, I guess." He smiled, sensing no animosity between them. Their reunion was more friendly than he would have thought, so he saw no problems working with her. _Ajene, on the other hand, may have something to say about it_, he thought with a smile. He made a mental note to try and keep the two of them from ever meeting.

"I have no problem with that, _General._" Her smile demonstrated that she really had no difficulties taking orders from him, so Wedge relaxed slightly. He returned her smile, then moved towards the podium to commence the briefing, and Shara resumed her seat.

"I hope you all weren't expecting to have a lot of time to settle in, because you won't be getting it," Wedge began. He placed his hands on either side of the lectern, leaning on it. The three commanders of the squadrons, as well as Tycho, sat to his left, also facing the assembly of pilots. "In addition to our forty-eight fighters, the fleet includes _Starlight_, as well as a second Mon Cal cruiser, appropriately named _Triumphant_. Three Corellian gunships, _Resilience_, _Restitution,_ and_ Reliance_ round out the fleet. Admiral Fedra is in command."

"So, this is what you can expect over the next couple of days. Our fleet will be jumping into systems we know are controlled by Rozrrom, hopefully catching him off-guard and provoking him into a fight. Fleet Command and Intelligence are going to be putting teams on some of the planets to keep an eye out for which of his ships are where; maybe even, at some point, find out where his base is. If we do locate it, then we'll take the fight there."

"Our first mission will take place in ten hours. We'll be jumping into the Srelba System; specifically the planet Srelbin IV." The lights in the room dimmed and a holo of the yellow and green planet in question hovered between Wedge and the pilots. He left the podium to walked around it, continuing his briefing. "Rozrrom has only recently moved onto this planet, and we're hoping that his grip isn't all that firm yet. He threatened the planetary officials into letting him create a small garrison from where he can loot the planet at will, as well as use it as a base of operations for his organization. Intelligence doesn't think that any of his capital ships are stationed there permanently, but seem to stop into the system on a semi-regular patrol schedule."

The holo of the planet disappeared to be replaced by two capital ships. Wedge turned briefly towards his pilots. "Some of you may think this is information you know, but pay close attention, cause there have been some changes." He turned back to the holo, took a deep breath, and continued. "Rozrrom has two capital ships under his command. The first is _Nefarious_, his Star Destroyer. The second is _Inferno_, the Lancer that he acquired a couple of months ago."

Wedge took another deep breath as the image of the _Querulous_ appeared, replacing the previous holo. He heard several people murmuring amongst the pilots, but in the darkness of the room, he couldn't be sure who it was. He cleared his throat and continued. "This is the _Querulous_, a Victory-class Star Destroyer that until nearly six months ago was commanded by Admiral Osiel Turpa, assigned by the Empire to protect the Arramsetti System. A small New Republic force drove her off, and her whereabouts were unknown. Until it was discovered that she has reappeared, and seems to now be allied with Rozrrom."

Wedge pushed on, despite that fact that his stomach had begun to crawl around in his belly. "Although our forces and Rozzrom are pretty evenly matched where firepower is concerned, we'll be trying to catch each ship alone and relatively unprotected. That's the plan for Srelbin IV, but as you all know, even the best of strategies hardly ever work out as planned. Especially when Rozrrom is involved."

"So, let's get into the specifics..."

* * * * * * * *

Hobbie left his quarters, where he'd been reading through the daily news, to search out a decent cup of caf. He knew, though, that he'd have to settle for whatever they were passing for caf on _Starlight_. As some measure of compensation, it wasn't hard for him to find the deck nine mess hall. They were, after all, practically neighbors.

He entered through the main hatchway, and waited patiently in line for his cup of caf. Since his spoon didn't dissolve on contact with the dark liquid, he decided that maybe it wasn't nearly as noxious as it could have been. After enthusiastically inhaling the steam that rose from his cup, he decided that it could indeed be termed 'decent'.

"Ah, sweet nectar..." he murmured.

He looked out over the tables arrayed in straight lines, searching for anyone he might know. He was looking for company, and found it in Hepat Avaan, Wes's wingmate. He headed in the direction of the diminutive Sullustan. Yes, company would be very welcome indeed.

The lead time before a mission was often difficult for Hobbie. He hated having so much time to sit around and think--assuming they weren't simming--about not only what the battle may bring, but what could go hideously wrong during it. Wes teased him all the time about being a pessimist, but Hobbie saw himself as more of a realist. Sometimes things went wrong--sometimes things went _very_ wrong. That was part of life, and you had to deal with it when it happened. But at times like this, with so little to do, it worried Hobbie. Some conversation would take his mind off it, and keep the 'what ifs' at bay for the time being.

"Hi, Hepat," he said, standing over his fellow pilot, who quickly stood to offer a crisp salute. Although Hobbie was taller than most of his fellow Rogues, he couldn't under most circumstances be considered tall. But when Hepat climbed to his feet, Hobbie felt positively enormous! He returned the salute, then motioned to the chair beside him. "Mind if I join you?"

"Of course not, sir." Hepat took his own chair as Hobbie settled into his. He still towered over Hepat, who was only upper chest and shoulders above the table.

"Don't have to call me sir," Hobbie said, taking a tentative sip of his caf. Fiery-hot, but otherwise an acceptable imitation of the real thing. "Hobbie'll do."

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir," Hepat replied. Hobbie was about to correct him, when he saw the Sullustan's jowls vibrate and curl. His species version of a chuckle.

"Oh, you and Wes will get along juuust fine," Hobbie said, shaking his head slightly as he slumped a little further into his chair. He felt a little self-conscious, being so much taller than Avaan.

"I am not certain of that, Hobbie," Hepat answered, with a close approximation of a human sigh. "I do not believe he is impressed with my flying skills so far."

"You mean the mix-up during the training thing?" Hobbie had teased Wes quite a bit about coming in last. He hadn't realized that maybe Wes would take out some of his frustrations on his wingmate. "I teased him a bit about that. I'm sorry if I contributed to any problems between the two of you."

"Oh, no, you did not contribute. Major Janson had every right to be displeased with my performance. I have since simmed over twenty hours of parade formations and obstacle flying. It will not happen again."

Hobbie smiled. New Rogues were always eager to please and improve their performance. They were now, after all, part of an elite unit. "I doubt we'll be doing much parade flying any time soon, but I'm sure that won points with Wes."

"Of that I am also not certain, Hobbie."

"Oh, why's that?"

Hepat's head bowed for a moment. "Major Janson takes every opportunity to point out my--"

"Hey, Avaan!" a voice interrupted from across the quiet mess. Hobbie looked up, Hepat turning in his seat, and they both spotted Wes moving towards the exit with Inyri and Myn, a cup of something in his hand. "Show me your left!"

Hobbie's gaze flicked back to Hepat, and watched as the Sullustan slowly raised his left arm, holding it over his large head as his other shoulder slumped. He kept his black eyes fixed downwards in embarrassment. Hobbie wasn't sure if Sullustan's could blush, but if they could, Hepat would be glowing bright enough to light the room.

"Just checking, Six," Wes called out, exiting the mess, and Hobbie could see him chuckling with Myn and Inyri.

"As I was saying, _sir_, Major Janson takes every opportunity to remind me of my failings."

_Poor guy... _"Hepat, Wes is only teasing, he's not serious. You know that, right? It's just his way. But if it really bothers you, you should just tell him to knock it off."

Although not completely confident in his understanding of Sullustan facial mannerisms, Hobbie thought Hepat looked alarmed. "Oh, no, sir. I could not contradict a superior officer!"

"You're not contradicting him," Hobbie soothed. "Just telling him that you don't appreciate the way he's treating you. Trust me, if you don't stand up to Wes now, he'll torment you for a long time to come. It's sort of a test for him...finding out how far he can push with a new wingmate. The sooner you understand that, the easier it'll go for you, and the more he'll respect you."

Hepat seemed to think about that for a moment. "I have therefore revised my opinion, Hobbie," he said slowly.

"Which opinion is that?"

Both of the Sullustan's overlapping jowls vibrated this time, followed by a laugh that sounded like a series of hic-ups. "Perhaps Major Janson is a higher ranking officer, but not a _superior_ one."

Hobbie barked a laugh. "Now you're getting it. Before you know it, you'll...be..." His voice trailed off as another Rogue entered the mess, glancing back and forth before approaching the service area. Hobbie stared for a moment, then dropped his eyes, painstakingly studying his cup, sinking further into his chair. He felt more than saw Hepat twist to look back, to see what had caught his attention.

"Are you avoiding Flight Officer Idec?" Hepat asked quietly.

"No, of course not!" Hobbie blurted out immediately. Avaan seemed to study him for a moment, with those dark, fathomless eyes.

"You _seem_ to be trying to avoid detection," he said, slowly blinking.

"I am not _hiding_!" Hobbie reiterated indignantly, but he could feel his cheeks start to burn, and his chest felt tight. Hepat turned again, looking over his shoulder to where Ecla was pouring a sweetener into her caf. He looked back at Hobbie again.

"Ah, I see. This is part of your mating ritual." He nodded, as if he was stating a fact.

Hobbie was so flustered for a moment, he couldn't find his voice, eventually spluttering, "Wh-what? No! There's no _mating_ going on around here!"

Avaan's head tilted left, then right, and several conversations on either side of their table hushed to listen. "Have I caused offense, sir?"

Hobbie sighed, slowly rotating his cup between his hands, ignoring various stares. "No, no, of course not."

"Are you attracted to her?"

Both eyebrows raised, Hobbie stammered. "Uh, I...I'm not sure." Was Hepat always this direct?

"If you are, I believe you should approach her and commence the mating ritual."

Hobbie couldn't help but laugh. "Hepat, I'm not sure how Sullustan's go about this, but it's a little more...complex with humans."

"It is _always_ more complex with humans," Hepat replied with a slight shake of his head.


	12. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Wedge stood with a shoulder leaning against the side of his X-wing, watching as Thras Nyl approached his own fighter, not more than twenty meters away. The new Rogue was wearing the typical orange flightsuit that most of the other Rogues wore, instead of his original dark blue one, an obvious attempt to blend in and become part of the group. The former Imperial ran his fingers along the underside of the port S-foil, stopping to peer into the lower of the two engines on that side. Seeming satisfied with a quick inspection, he moved over to and started up the ladder resting against the side of the ship.

_It must be strange for him to be flying our fighters,_ Wedge reflected, continuing the observation of one of his newest pilots. This would be the first time that he would have to trust Nyl in combat, and he was surprised at the flutter of nerves in his stomach that came with that realization.

As Nyl made it half way up the ladder, he paused to run a gloved hand over the smooth, gray skin of his fighter, beneath the lip of his cockpit. On every other X-wing in the squadron, this was the area where the pilot's kill silhouettes were displayed. There were none on Nyl's ship. _Until now, a__ll of the fighters he's shot down are ours,_ Wedge thought. _Maybe even friends of mine..._

Refusing to let his thoughts continue further down that particular space lane, Wedge headed up his own ladder and jumped onto his pilot's couch. Dropping into a seated position, he picked up his helmet from where it was perched in front of him, towards the nose of his fighter. He shoved it onto his head, fastened the strap snuggly under his chin, then pulled on his gloves, wriggling his fingers to make sure he had a full range of motion. It was a routine he knew well, and settled the uneasy feeling in his gut. He glanced to his right and saw Tycho, sitting in his own cockpit, looking over at him.

_Has he been watching me this entire time?_ Wedge wondered, trying to convince himself that there was nothing to feel guilty about. He smiled over at Tycho, and was relieved when the colonel smiled back, then gave him a thumbs-up just before his canopy descended to seal him in.

As Wedge began his pre-flight checklist, Gate whistled a question at him. Wedge sighed. "Not you, too. I was _not_ spying on him!"

There was another series of tones, the translation scrolling across Wedge's secondary screen as his fighter powered up. "Yes, yes, you were captured along with me by the Imperials, and yes, that was a terrible thing. But it has nothing to do with any suspicions I have about Nyl. And I was only watching him while he--"

This time the whistles and beeps had a decidedly sarcastic tone to them. "Fine, don't believe me," Wedge grumbled. "Just warm up the engines."

He flicked a couple switches, lights flashing on and off on his console. He stopped for a moment, a thoughtful frown creasing his forehead. "I wonder..." he mused, the engines of the fighter thrumming behind him.

Gate trilled a note, asking a question. Wedge smirked. "I was just wondering if it wasn't time for the Rogue astromechs to have their routine memory wipes."

Gate was sullenly silent after that.

* * * * * * *

As usual while sitting in hyperspace, heading for a possible battle at Srelbin IV, Tycho had no one to talk to but his droid, Marca. But even that conversation had ended pretty quickly when the R-5 reminded Tycho of his losses at the sabaac table the night before, playing against some of the engineers and techs on_ Starlight._ He was fully aware that he was an awful player, he just didn't need to be reminded so frequently of the fact.

Laying his helmeted head against the back of his pilot's couch, Tycho closed his eyes and tried to relax. His thoughts wandered in various directions, from one topic to another, seemingly unrelated to one another. A vision of Winter surfaced, and he smiled, but the happiness he felt when he thought of her was dimmed by loneliness and regret. It had been more than three months since he'd last heard from her, and even longer since he'd actually seen her.

They had a strange relationship, often separated for months, sometimes for more than a year, by either his duties as a pilot or hers as personal aide and friend to Chief of State Organa Solo. And although he had no doubt that he and Winter were in love and devoted to one another, he had to question what direction their relationship would take in the future. He honestly hoped that they could keep from drifting apart permanently, but with such long separations, he wasn't sure if their relationship could survive, never mind thrive. They had a lot to talk about at their next meeting--whenever that was. For the moment, he missed her terribly, and had to be content with the memories.

Tycho's droid moaned quietly, interrupting his introspection. "What is it, Marca?"

After a singsong of tones and whistles, Tycho smiled. "I'm not mad at you, or ignoring you. I was just thinking about something."

Again, Marca asked a question. Tycho's smile slipped into a frown. "What do_ you_ know about it?"

This time Marca had a lot to say, his trilling starting out low and eventually running through several scales up into a higher range. "Gate told you all that? How does he know about it? What does he think about it?"

Tycho frowned at himself as Marca's reply sprang up. _I'm asking a droid about gossip? Have I fallen that far?_ At that point, something Marca said caught his attention. "Wait a minute, Marca, back up a parsec. Why did Gate say that?"

There was a quick whistle, raised at the end indicating that it was a question. "The part about Wedge being 'not operating according to standard human specs' or something like that."

Tycho waited patiently as Marca, in typical astromech fashion, went through several issues before getting to the point that interested the pilot. Sometimes he wondered why droids were bigger gossips than most humans. "Really? I didn't know about that. There've been a couple of things recently though that had me wondering if his capture hadn't affected him more than even he realizes."

Marca tootled. "Yes, that's one of them. This worrying about Thras Nyl is another. And now Gate thinking the same thing, and he's in a position to know. Pretty conclusive, I'd say."

Marca gave an indignant hoot. "No, I'm not suggesting that I wouldn't have believed Gate." Tycho tried not to get aggravated. Why did he have to get stuck with a droid with an inferiority complex? "I'm just saying that I've seen some things as well that would make me wonder. Why don't you concentrate on your job and run a systems check to make sure that everything is in working order, and I'll do my job which includes worrying about Wedge, ok?"

As Marca grumbled and set to his task, Tycho looked out through his canopy, his eyes losing focus as he watched the shifting colors of the light show that hyperspace provided. Wedge was out there, the man he thought of as not only his commanding officer and wingmate, but best friend as well. Wedge had stood by him through all kinds of adversity, even when most others had given Tycho up for a traitor. Wedge never lost his faith or trust in Tycho.

_Trust._ Tycho considered the word for a few moments, mindlessly watching lights flash on and off in his cockpit, Marca finishing up the systems check. The more the word sunk in, though, the more he realized that it had been bouncing around in the back of his brain for the last few months. Now it had crystallized into an important concern at the front of his mind: he was worried about Wedge. The whole business with Thras Nyl was what had finally tipped Tycho off that there was a serious problem. He had never seen his friend react negatively like that to anyone, ex-Imperial or not. There was always a sense about Wedge that no matter what was in the person's past, no matter what anyone said about that person, they always got at least one chance to prove themselves to Wedge. His creation of Wraith Squadron was proof of that, since he'd purposefully found pilots with blots on their records, who weren't trusted or wanted by other commanders. Instead of letting them be washed out of Starfighter Command, Wedge had given them one last chance to prove themselves. He'd put his trust in them when they didn't even trust themselves anymore.

"You're right, Marca, and so is Gate," Tycho admitted, feeling the need to voice his concerns, even if it was only to his droid. The person he would usually talk to was the person he was worried about. "Ever since the Arramsetti thing, he's been a little different. Not too noticeable at first, but it's all adding up to something we can't help but notice and can no longer ignore. I don't know..."

Tycho let his words trail off, but his thoughts continued on. He knew that Wedge had almost died twice on Arramsetti, and that alone would skew most people's point of view slightly. But Wedge had also been put through days of horrific torture, just because of who he was and what he had done for the New Republic. Tycho had been tortured in the past as well, but he didn't remember most of it, being drugged and comatose through the majority of the sessions. And he had never been so badly tortured that he had been close to death. _Gods, who knows what that does to the mind._

Somehow, though, Wedge seemed above all that. Tycho groaned, rolling his eyes when he realized he was doing what so many others had done before him. He was seeing his best friend as Wedge Antilles, Hero of the Rebellion, not as the human being, the flesh and blood he really was. Just like everyone else, Wedge was susceptible to failure, anxiety, suspicion, doubt, even fear. What had happened to him was bound to leave more than just physical scars.

A shiver ran down Tycho's spine. He wasn't sure that what had been changed in Wedge could ever be repaired, and he was very sorry for that. _Can Wedge ever be the man he was before? Or have we lost him for good?_ Tycho shook his head. If that were the case, then the Empire had possibly won a victory without even knowing it. They may have killed Wedge Antilles.

Marca whistled to get his attention. Glancing at his main screen, Tycho saw that they were just five minutes away from reverting to real space. Pulling himself fully upright, he straightened his helmet and pulled at his gloves, preparing himself for the battle that lay ahead.

* * * * * * * *

"Is _Nefarious _in position, Larrdin?" Rozrrom asked from his command seat on the bridge of _Inferno_. He loved the smaller ship, feeling that it better represented him than his Star Destroyer. _Small, yet deadly. Unremarkable to look at, but venomous._

"Yes, sir," the colonel replied, standing at his commander's right hand. "In position, as per your orders."

"Excellent," he responded, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "All we need now is for their fleet to arrive, then we crush them once and for all. Assuming the information our spy sent is correct. I would be extremely disappointed if I had to go to all this trouble for nothing."

Larrdin wondered what kind of death Rozrrom would visit upon the spy should the New Republic ships not appear from hyperspace. A number of theories flittered through his mind just before the sensor officer signaled from his position at the sensor console. Unlike on the much larger Star Destroyer, the bridge crew on the Lancer were on the same level as their commander, sitting below the semi-circle of forward viewports.

"General, ships exiting hyperspace, heading point five-oh, mark six."

Rozrrom was on his feet in an instant. "How many, Givel?"

"Five capitals, sir, and forty-eight fighters. A-wings and X-wings, sir. They match the profile of the fleet we're waiting for."

Rozrrom resumed his seat, lacing his fingers together and settling his hands on his stomach. "You know what to do, Larrdin."

"Aye, sir." Larrdin turned towards the dark haired woman in charge of communications. She was on her feet, bent over the panels she was responsible for, giving Larrdin an admirable view of various parts of her body. "Lella, send the order releasing the TIEs, both ship-board and ground-based. Bring _Nefarious_ around to course nine-eight mark twelve, _Inferno_ to one-three mark two-one. Open fire as soon as the gunships and Mon Cals are in range."

"Yes, Colonel," she replied, her fingers dancing over the keys as she took her seat.

Larrdin tore his eyes off her and returned his attention to his commander. "Fighters released, General." He consulted a tactical screen. "Republic ships will be within our firing range in thirty-eight seconds.

"Good. Contact _Querulous_ and have her stand by to make her jump should it look like they'll retreat."

"Yes, General."

* * * * * * *

"This is _not_ going well," Wedge grumbled, an understatement of staggering proportions. He inverted his fighter and dove, narrowly missing a TIE fighter pursuing Rogue Ten. He passed it so quickly he didn't get off a single shot.

"I think we ought to get out of here, Lead," Tycho's strained voice replied on their private channel. Wedge couldn't see his wingman--in a fight as tight as this one, wingpairs often got split up--but his scanners and tactical screen told him all he needed to know. Enemy fighters surrounded Tycho, as well as Wedge and the other forty-four remaining fighters in their group. Enemy fighters numbering one hundred and seventeen at last count. Wedge didn't know how Rozrrom had been able to gather together this many TIEs, though not much surprised him when it came to the Corellian general. During his years as a smuggler, the leader of the Inexorables had no doubt assembled a sizeable number of contacts and suppliers. Not to mention favors due.

There was one thing that did surprise Wedge, however. So far, only _Nefarious_ and _Inferno_ were in system, letting loose at least three-quarters of the fighters they now faced, the rest coming up from Srelbin IV; there was still no sign of _Querulous._ As it stood, the New Republic fleet outmatched the forces that Rozrrom had arrayed against them, with only the TIEs presenting a serious threat. But while the New Republic fighters were occupied with the TIEs, they wouldn't be able to help take out the Inexorables' capital ships, evening out the odds.

"You think she'll be here?" Wedge asked Tycho, evading the increasingly accurate fire from the TIE on his tail. There were so many of the little fighters buzzing around that there were continual flares from his shields. Gate was pulling power from every system in the ship to keep them from failing.

There were a few moments of silence before Tycho came back. "You'd think so. Be stupid not to bring her in, try and finish us off." There was a loud explosion, then static on the frequency.

"Two?" Wedge asked. There was no reply. "Rogue Two, can you hear me?"

Wedge's stomach flipped, and not because of any problem with his inertial compensator. He checked his screen, and saw that Tycho's ship was still out there somewhere, he just didn't know if the pilot inside it was okay. "Rogue Two? Rogue Leader to Rogue Two."

"I'm here, Lead," Tycho answered after what seemed like an eternity. "Last blast got through my shields and knocked out my primary comm unit. Switched to secondary unit once I got rid of the TIE. Shields almost back to full power."

"Then can you spare a minute to help a wingmate?" Wedge hinted.

"I may be convinced to forgo my caf break, if you insist."

"I insist," Wedge replied, throwing his ship to the left, then a sharp turn to the right. To some people, this kind of banter could seem hideously out of place in a space battle, but somehow it seemed normal for the Rogues, even expected.

Wedge's fighter jarred violently and the webbing of his restraint harness dug into his shoulders as he was tossed forward. Gate screamed, then went very quiet. "Gate?"

"Lead, are you all right?" Tycho asked, an edge of anxiety in his voice .

"_I_ am," Wedge replied, checking his instruments and readouts. "But I think I just lost Gate."

"I'm right above you, Lead. Looks like Gate's still there, but more than a little crisped. Make a sharp left on my mark and I'll slip in behind your TIE."

"Copy, Rogue Two." Wedge dodged right, then dipped below his previous line of flight, his ship spiralling along its axis. "Just be quick about it," he grumbled to himself.

"Three, two, one, mark!"

Wedge tossed his stick to the left, green laser fire passing through the area of space he had just occupied. He corkscrewed, continuing left in a tight loop. He caught an X-wing in his peripheral vision, hopefully Tycho, opening fire on the enemy fighter. There was a bright flash.

"Lead, you're clear," Tycho announced.

"Thanks, Rogue Two," Wedge answered, followed by a quick sigh of relief. But it was short lived, since there were still over a hundred TIEs swarming around them. He punched a button on his console, taking him to the Rogue tactical frequency. "Rogue Control, any word from the Admiral?"

"Nothing yet, Flight Leader," Nawara replied. "_Starlight_ is taking quite a bit of fire from _Nefarious_."

"Patch me through to _Starlight_, Control." Nawara didn't reply, but there was a short squawk from the comm, a telltale sign that there had been a change in channels. Fedra's voice came across next.

"_Starlight_ here, Flight Leader."

"We're overwhelmed out here, Admiral. We either need to retreat, or you break off from the capitals and give us some cover." Wedge dodged another TIE, Tycho picking it off from behind him, but they seemed to be coming at him from all directions at once. And without Gate, even a minor malfunction could have him out of the fight in a matter of moments.

"We can take the two capital ships, General, if you can hold out a little longer. If _Querulous_ isn't going to jump in, this may be our best chance to get Rozrrom."

Wedge fought against the anger building within him. He reluctantly had to concede that Fedra was forced to look solely at numbers, and the very real possibility of being able to end the battle once and for all, with only the loss of some pilots. But Wedge saw it from a completely different point of view--from a cockpit. _He_ was one of those pilots who might be an 'acceptable loss' in a daily report.

"You might be able to take on _Nefarious _and_ Inferno_, Admiral, but we can't beat back over a hundred TIEs while you do it. And once they get past us, _you'll _be in trouble. With all due respect, I suggest we withdraw."

There was what sounded like a sigh from the comm unit. "I concede the point. Sending the order to withdraw."

Wedge exhaled a long breath. Fedra sounded hesitant, but he had seen reason anyway, saving countless pilots. Only a few seconds later, the retreat code went out, and what was left of the four fighter squadrons came around towards their exit vector, speeding after and catching up to the outbound capitals. At virtually the same time, _Querulous_ arrived in the system.

Not even the bright green flash of a blaster bolt, less than a meter away as it pierced his shields and whizzed past his canopy, could tear Wedge's eyes from that Star Destroyer. He thought seeing the holo image of the former Imperial ship had prepared him, readied him for the feelings that would surface when he saw her again--the first time he would see her with his own eyes since his capture--but it hadn't. Fear gripped his heart and stole the breath from his lungs. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, the ships flying around him twisting into a bizarre dance of slow motion movement. His chest burned, crying out for oxygen, for life, for escape!

He suddenly gasped for air, one hand reflexively reaching for his throat. There was a buzzing in his ears that sluggishly formed into words.

"Flight Leader, respond."

_You, that's you_! Training and habit finally took over from conscious thought. Only about eight seconds had passed on his chronometer, but in the midst of a dogfight, that was an eternity. "Flight Leader here."

A pause, then Nawara was back. "What are your orders for the fighters?"

Wedge lowered a shaky hand back to his throttle control. He spotted a TIE about to cross his path, and took a shot at it, quad lasers flashing to life. He winged the tiny fighter, but it continued on, wobbly but intact.

"Continue with the withdrawal. Order all fighters to lightspeed as soon as they have a clear run. The capital ships will follow us out. Get everyone out of here."

"As ordered, Lead."

Wedge took a deep breath, then went after a TIE making a run on Eclipse Eight.


	13. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

"How many fighters lost at Srelbin IV, General?"

"Six destroyed, eleven damaged, Admiral," Wedge answered to the holo image of Admiral Ackbar, his stomach doing parade formations without his leave. Admiral Fedra stood beside him, already having answered his portion of the questions form the Mon Calamari Commander-in-Chief. Everything they'd stated had been in the report they had both signed off on, but obviously their first mission had turned into such a debacle that Ackbar wanted to hear the details for himself.

"Pilots?" Ackbar asked.

"Four killed, five more in the med-center. They'll make a complete recovery, according to the medical staff."

"So, there is some good news after all." Admiral Ackbar glanced down, possibly consulting a datapad. "I have heard Admiral Fedra's version, General. Now you tell me what happened."

"We jumped into the system expecting to find _Inferno_, which we did. But_ Nefarious_ was with her. _Querulous_jumped in right after us and we got caught between them. With our escape route partially blocked, we had no choice but to fight our way out. Luckily _Querulous_ didn't have time to launch any TIE fighters before we managed to make our jumps or our losses would have been much worse."

"I think the losses are bad enough as it is, General."

"Yes, Admiral," was all Wedge could say to that.

"What conclusions can you both draw from what happened?"

Wedge glanced at Admiral Fedra, who nodded for him to go ahead. They had already come to their own conclusions, and Ackbar knew it. "We feel, sir, that they were waiting for us," Wedge answered. "They must have known not only where we were coming from, but when as well. There's no other way to explain how coordinated their defence was of Srelbin IV."

Ackbar's large head turned slowly from side to side, imitating a human sigh of disbelief. "I'm not sure I like what you are suggesting, General, but I am forced to agree with you nevertheless. We are going to have to make security much tighter. You will be receiving orders for your next mission in a couple of hours, along with new security measures. Make sure you follow them. Ackbar out."

As the image of Ackbar winked out, Admiral Fedra slumped into a chair at the table which contained the holo-unit. "That went well," he announced sarcastically to the otherwise empty room.

Wedge took the chair to the Admiral's right. "Well, what did you expect? Having a possible security leak in our fleet is not something Command likes to hear."

"How do you know that the spy is here? The information could have been leaked anywhere along the line between here and Admiral Ackbar's office."

Wedge shook his head. "It could have been, but it wasn't. The spy has to be here, on one of our ships. Ackbar left the timing of the mission up to us--only we knew, up until the mission briefing, when we were going. Somewhere in the ten hours between the briefing and the actual mission, Rozrrom found out what we were up to. Someone sold us out."

"So all we have to do now is figure out which one of the thirty-thousand crew and pilots in the fleet is the traitor. That shouldn't be too hard," Fedra answered with a wry chuckle.

"Well, I think I know where to start looking," Wedge said, saluting casually before heading for the door.

* * * * * * *

"How'd it go?" Tycho asked, falling in step beside Wedge as he exited the meeting room.

"How d'you think?" Wedge replied, quickening his pace down the hallway towards the turbolifts.

"That well, huh?" Tycho said, hitting the button to call a car. "Where are we going?"

"To visit someone," was all Wedge would say.

"Ah... Who?" Tycho pushed after a heavy moment of silence.

"Thras Nyl. He's on my very short list of possible traitors."

At that moment the lift arrived and the doors opened. Wedge was about to step in when Tycho stopped him, his arm across his chest. "No, you aren't going to do this, Wedge."

"Do what? I'm only going to ask him some questions," Wedge said, glancing down at the arm barring his path. "And don't think you're going to stop me."

"Yes, I _will_ stop you, from making a serious mistake."

The doors to the lift closed and Wedge hit the button to recall it. He stepped back, turning to face Tycho. "Just what kind of mistake do you think I'm making?"

Tycho took a steadying breath, glad to see that Wedge could still be rational. "Thras Nyl has done nothing to warrant an interrogation. You haven't trusted him since he was brought into the squadron, and now you're placing blame on him, based solely on that mistrust."

"But--"

"But nothing, Wedge. You have no proof that anyone here is a spy. There is as much a chance of it being me than there is it being Thras. You want to investigate? Of course, go ahead! But don't start with Thras just because he's the obvious choice in _your_ mind. Remember how General Salm treated me, when I first joined the unit?"

Wedge chewed his lower lip as he thought it over. The doors to the lift opened and Tycho stepped in, turning to face Wedge, who remained standing in the hallway. "So where are we headed?"

Wedge followed Tycho into the lift and turned to his friend. "My office. We have some thinking to do."

* * * * * * * *

Hobbie came out of the refresher, a towel wrapped around his narrow hips, a smaller one in his hand as he dried his short blond hair. His skin puckered as he left the warm, humid air of the 'fresher and entered the cooler air of the room. He fought a shiver, but it crawled up and over him anyway.

Wes was sitting at the small desk in their quarters, hunched over the small terminal built into it. Upon their return to their quarters, they'd flipped a credit to see who would get to shower first. Wes won, and quickly disappeared into the 'fresher, emerging a half-hour later, cleaner and not _quite_ as grumpy.

"What're you reading?" Hobbie asked him, tossing the towel in his hand onto the bed and raking his fingers through damp hair before beginning to dig through a drawer for underwear.

"Hmm? Oh, just part one of a series of news articles about Rozrrom," Wes said without looking up.

"Trash or fact?" Hobbie asked as he reached for a clean uniform, trying to rub a wrinkle out of one leg with the heat of his hands.

"Fact, I think. Written last week by a journalist who was trying to infiltrate his--whoops."

"What?" Hobbie mumbled as he pulled a sleeveless undershirt over his head, then leaned over Wes's shoulder.

"Says here at the end that not long after the article was transmitted, the body of the journalist was found in his hotel room, his throat slit." Wes sat back in his chair, stretching his hands up above his shoulders, then bending his arms at the elbows to interlace his fingers behind his head.

"So much for part two, then," Hobbie said as he headed over to his bunk again. He picked up the flightsuit he had dumped there upon his return from their latest mission. Rozrrom had managed to drive them off yet again, after another bloody battle. It was just another failure in a growing list of failures.

Hobbie yanked the unit patch from the sleeve of his flightsuit before tossing the garment in the recycler. He ran his fingers over the embroidery on the patch as it rested in his palm, slowing over the word _Rogue_. "Wes, what do you think of what Myn said at dinner last night... About there possibly being a spy somewhere in the fleet?"

"Makes sense," Wes said over his shoulder as he put the terminal into standby mode. "Someone has to be giving Rozrrom a heads-up. He keeps knowing where we're going to be one mission to the next. No one is that lucky. Even a Corellian."

"Do you think it could be one of the pilots?" Hobbie asked, with only a slight hesitation. The thought that one of their own could be a traitor was not a pleasant one.

Wes scrunched up his face as he considered that. "Could be. Pilots are usually the first to find out about a mission, except maybe the people planning the thing. And we do have a good deal of spare time leading up to the mission."

Hobbie thought about it for a moment. "Wes... No, no never mind," Hobbie said, pulling his uniform up past his waist, sliding one arm and then the other into the sleeves.

"What?" Wes asked, moving over to his bed, perched on the corner, his fingers fiddling with the laces on his boots.

"I was just thinking... Rozrrom had the upper hand before, but not like this. It all seemed to go really wrong with the formation of the new fleet. Rozrrom beat us back before, but not like this." He shook his head, pulling the zipper up to near his throat. "I dunno, maybe I'm just imagining things."

"Maybe..." Wes pondered, talking to himself as much as Hobbie. "You never know. Could be anyone in the fleet. Any number of crewmen transferred on board when the fleet was reformed, and new pilots."

Hobbie shrugged. They could guess all night, or they could go eat. "C'mon...judging by the smell, there's something good for dinner tonight." Hobbie headed for the door, then turned to look at his roommate. "You coming?"

"Yeah," Wes answered, climbing to his feet to head for the door.


	14. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

Five days and several aborted missions after the uncomfortable report to Admiral Ackbar, Wedge found himself outside of Admiral Fedra's office. Since the door was open, Wedge knocked on the jamb before entering the room, tossing a quick salute. "You wanted to see me, Admiral?"

"General Antilles," Admiral Fedra welcomed him with a brief salute and a cheerful smile. He waved Wedge to a seat in front of his desk. It was a small desk, Wedge noted, kept clear of clutter and well organized, a holo of a woman and a toddler perched on one corner. The walls of his office were bare, with the exception of a static holo of a map of various areas of the galaxy. It confirmed what Wedge had thought when he first met the Berchest native: he was not only exceedingly intelligent, but also had a good dose of common sense, something unfortunately lacking in many high-ranking front-line officers. He also didn't like to hit visitors over the head with walls of commendations and lists of accomplishments, even though Wedge was sure he had plenty of both to have reached Admiral at his age.

After Wedge settled down, Fedra handed him a datacard. "You'll find on this the newest set of orders from Command. I wanted to talk to you about them, if I might."

"Certainly, Admiral. But you'll have to fill me in first," Wedge said with a smile, waving the datacard.

Fedra chuckled. "Of course. I had every intention to, General. Actually, may I call you Wedge?"

"Uh...sure. I don't see why not, sir" Wedge answered, caught a little off-guard by the informality. Another sign that Fedra wasn't your typical Fleet officer.

"Then please, call me Andel."

"All right. Andel it is," Wedge said, grinning. Despite recent circumstances, he was actually very much enjoying working with Fedra. Much more than just about every fleet commander he'd worked with so far, with the possible exception of General Solo. In fact, Wedge was absolutely certain now that Fedra was unlike any other Admiral he had ever worked with. Fedra was younger than most, to be sure, but also open to the suggestions of people that worked with him. He saw the relationship between Wedge and himself as a collaborative one, often asking Wedge his opinion or advice, drawing on his Rogue and Wraith experience. Fedra didn't always take his advice, but at least he considered it. Now asking permission to call Wedge by his first name was a further demonstration of his feelings of trust and equality, not to mention an aversion for strict military protocol, which most of his peers seemed to delight in. "What was it you wanted to discuss in particular?"

"Wedge, I won't spell out all of the details, you can read them later, but our upcoming mission is going to be much more complex than our previous hit-and-runs. Not that there weren't unexpected complications with those other missions..." Wedge watched Fedra shake his head, probably in disbelief at the luck that Rozrrom seemed to be enjoying..._or information that he's somehow buying_. Wedge noticed, with some amusement, that he was shaking his own head now as well. He forced himself to stop.

"There will be a coordinated ground and space mission, with a team dirt-side keeping Rozrrom's forces busy while we make our jump into the system and try to get the drop on _him_ this time. What I wanted to talk to you about was the security we're going to execute. We've implemented all of Ackbar's new measures, but I'm not sure that they'll be enough. Especially after the recent debacles."

"Actually," Wedge began, "we've come up with a couple of ideas on that. I've talked this over with Colonel Celchu and the other squadron leaders, and we all agree that a complete comm blackout may be necessary for the twelve hours leading up to the mission, to ensure that no one in the fleet has the chance to contact Rozrrom and tip our hand."

"That's a severe restriction," Fedra noted with a frown. "Means no reports could go out to fleet command, no response to incoming transmissions, no regular communication between ships, even. We would have to manually shuttle orders to the rest of the fleet."

Wedge nodded, drumming one finger lightly on the arm of his chair. "We're aware of the inconveniences it may cause, but with our recent string of losses, I don't see how we can avoid it. We can resume regular communications as soon as we're ready to make our jump, leaving the spy no time to send a message, and Rozrrom even less time to prepare for us. I'm pretty sure that the spy must be piggy-backing his messages on existing transmissions somehow, or we would have picked them up by now."

Fedra's mouth twisted as he thought that over. "You're still convinced the spy is here, then."

"It's the only logical conclusion," Wedge answered, folding his arms across his chest.

"Why is that?" Fedra asked with a raised eyebrow. "Not that I don't believe you, but before I issue an order turning off every holounit and comlink in the fleet, I'd like to know why I'm doing it. And Fleet Command will surely want a satisfactory explanation as well. "

Wedge leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees, lacing his fingers together. "Think about it for a minute. Most of the last minute details of the mission are decided by you and I, and a select few others. Once we finalize the plan, I brief my squadron leaders, then pilots, and you turn to your staff. Since the mission's already been approved, you send off a message to Fleet Command only a few hours before the actual mission with those last minute details. If Rozrrom was intercepting those messages, he would have only a small amount of time to throw together a plan like the coordinated attacks that he's beat us back with. If the spy is someone along the line at Command, then he would have even less time to communicate with Rozrrom and for the warlord to get his ships into position."

"What you're saying makes sense, I suppose," Fedra said, leaning back in his chair. "I just have a hard time believing that it could be someone in this fleet."

"It's even worse than that," Wedge countered with a pained grimace. "I think it may be one of my pilots."

"Why would a spy betray us to Rozrrom then put himself in danger by flying out into the middle of the furball?" Andel asked, leaning forward again.

Wedge blew out a long breath. "Trust me, I've had some experience with this. A squadron is the perfect place to hide a spy--they have light duties when they aren't flying, access to equipment, personnel, and communications. They also have advance knowledge of missions, which your average crewer wouldn't have."

Fedra raised a finger to emphasize his counter-argument. "Ah, but you're forgetting that there _are_ hundreds of other crew members who know about our missions in advance. Everyone from the technicians who prep the fighters to the crew who are responsible for plotting our hyperspace jump. Not to mention my personal staff."

Wedge nodded slowly. "That's true, but you have to remember that they only know as much about the mission that's needed for their jobs, and some of them aren't told very far in advance. Techs are told that the ships have to be prepped, but since we're on near constant alert most of the time now, our ships are pretty much kept at the ready, and we give only three or four hours notice before we actually need them. They also don't know the where. Same for most of the rest of the crew involved, with the possible exception of your aids and personal staff, who have to be in the planning from the beginning. Most ways you slice it, though, pilots have the time, the knowledge, and the know-how."

"Hmm...those are all valid points. I think we'll need to come up with something a little more formal, though, before we broach the subject with Command."

Wedge's mouth spread into a wide grin as he pulled a datacard out of one of many pockets. "I'm way ahead of you, Andel." He handed the card over to the Admiral, who mirrored his smile.

"General Cracken was right about you," Fedra remarked with a quiet chuckle.

"I shudder to think what Cracken says about me behind my back," Wedge replied, shaking his head.

"Oh?" Fedra asked with raised eyebrows.

"Sure. 'That damn Antilles and his gang of misfits. Always poking their noses in where they don't belong,'" Wedge said in a fair imitation of General Cracken's growl. "And that was before I even founded the Wraiths, who're the real misfits of the galaxy, causing chaos wherever they go."

"I think you're doing Cracken an injustice, Wedge, he speaks very highly of you and the Rogues. But_ you_ especially."

Wedge's lips twisted into a half smile, half sneer. "He's asked me to join intelligence more than once. I'm better off in a cockpit."

"A pity," Fedra responded. "I'm sure you would have fit right in with the Intelligence officers."

"Just what does _that_ mean?" Wedge asked, raising an eyebrow and leaning back in his chair with a growing smirk.

"Oh, nothing," Fedra smiled innocently. "Let's take a look at what you've come up with."

* * * * * * * *

"Why me?" Corran whined.

"Because you walked in at just the wrong time, because you deserve it, because you're the least suspect of the lot of us," Wes said, bodily shoving the captain across the _Starlight's_ mess hall.

"But..."

"Come on...are you a Jedi or a granite slug?"

"I'm _neither_," Corran continued to protest as he was propelled towards a corner table. "He's gonna kill you, then me, then you again, for whatever it is you've got planned."

"Nah, he'll love it!" Wes countered, pulling out a chair and pushing Corran into it, a hand on each shoulder to hold him there.

"Wes--" Corran started.

"Oh, just be quiet and do as you're told," Wes said, diving one hand deep into a pocket for his comlink, the other still firmly planted on a shoulder.

"But, Wes, he's--" Corran tried again.

"Once I call him here, you'll ask him to come and sit with you. Then--"

"Then what, Major?" Wedge asked quietly, leaning over Wes's shoulder. The stouter pilot jumped and turned, all in the same motion.

"I tried to warn you," Corran said to Wes's back, smirking.

"Uh, nothing. I was just...um..." Wes thought frantically for an excuse to cover his tracks. "I was going to play a joke on Tycho, but you caught me. So I'll just forget it, and be on my way."

Wes started past Wedge, but was stopped short as Wedge's hand took hold of his upper arm. "Are you sure it was to be on Tycho?" he asked quietly into Wes's right ear.

"Of course," Wes replied, a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes.

"I'll ask you again, _Major_. Are you sure it was for Tycho?"

Wes feigned a hurt expression. "Why, you don't think I was going to play a joke on _you_?"

"The thought had crossed my mind," Wedge said, as Corran laughed from his front row seat.

"You really would have liked it in the end. Honest you would," Wes confessed with a pout. He hated it when he wasn't able to put a perfect plan into effect.

"I doubt that very much," Wedge chuckled, then turned towards Corran. "What did he have planned? A Rhodian pie in the face? Salted caf? Glue on my chair?"

"Actually, he'd just hijacked me and hadn't gotten around to telling me what my unwilling part was to be," Corran said, climbing back to his feet.

"Well..." Wes began. "A package arrived earlier that I'm sure you might enjoy, Wedge. So I had planned to--"

"A package?" Wedge interrupted, confused, glancing at the table just behind Corran. "What kind of package?"

"I think he means me," a voice said from behind him.

Wedge straightened, and he was the one spinning on his heel this time. "_Jene!_"

Wes leaned over and whispered to Corran. "He runs into her arms....aaaaand cue sappy music. And this is where he forgets all about _us_."

"Wes, if I had the choice between you and Ajene, I'd pick her, too," Corran snickered.

* * * * * * *

"What are you doing here?" Wedge asked as he and Ajene sat down together at a table in the mess. He held both of her hands on the tabletop. "_Why _are you here?"

"Almost sounds like you aren't happy to see me," she replied with a smirk.

He raised one of her hands towards his mouth, and kissed the inside of her wrist. "I _am_ glad you're here. And there are a few things I'd like to talk to you about, but not here. Not in the open."

"That sounds serious," she said, frowning. "Shall we take the conversation elsewhere?"

"Sure, just let me grab a caf," he said, getting to his feet. "You want one?"

"I could sure use one. It was a very long flight in a very small shuttle to catch up with you boys."

After filling two large plastine cups with extraordinarily strong caf, the only kind the mess served, Wedge walked Ajene to the modest office adjoining his quarters. He sat in his chair, and she perched on the corner of the desk, glancing out of the viewport between sips of steaming caf.

"Most of what you want to talk to me about, I most likely know," she began, glancing down at him. "I was fully briefed about the current situation before I left Coruscant."

"They tell you about the spy?" Wedge asked, putting down his cup to turn on his datapad. It was an automated reaction to sitting behind his desk.

"Yes," she replied. "But I find it hard to believe it would be a pilot. You come up with that one?"

Wedge smiled sheepishly, looking back up at her. "Yeah, that would be me. Among others."

"I thought as much," she said without smiling. "You think it's Nyl, don't you."

Wedge shook his head, sighing. "Am I that transparent?"

"Only to those of us who know you, and your...recent history. Besides, you haven't exactly been secretive with your suspicions about Nyl. He's the first person you'd blame when things go wrong."

"Funny, you look like Ajene, but you sound just like Tycho." He chuckled, but when she didn't, he returned his attention to his datapad, frowning at it.

"I'm very serious about this, Wedge. I don't know what's gotten into you lately. You used to be so open-minded about people, never taking anything at face value, never suspecting someone without just cause. But ever since you were ambushed--"

Wedge looked up immediately, fire dancing through his brown eyes as he cut her off. "I'm sick of everyone insinuating that I'm letting my feelings about that one experience color my perceptions about the current situation! That's well behind me. And need I point out yet again that Nyl is a former Imperial pilot, captured in battle? He didn't defect, he didn't leave of his own account, he was _captured _and--"

This time it was Ajene who cut him off, setting down her cup of caf on his desk with such force that some of it sloshed over the side. She pointed a slim finger at him. "Don't do this, Wedge. Just don't. I've tried to be as supportive as I can since your rescue, knowing how much pain and anguish that ordeal caused you, but since those first couple of days, you've hardly mentioned it at all, even when the nightmares started. You just won't admit to yourself how much it hurt you--but it has, and it'll continue to do so until you do something about it. This unfounded distrust of Thras Nyl is just the most recent symptom!"

"You think that I need professional help?" Wedge asked with a sceptical expression, anger nibbling at the edge of his words. "I'm not sure what I did to deserve _that _kind of punishment."

"No, no. That's not what I'm saying at all." Ajene sighed, then got up and went around to the front of his desk so she could fully face him. She sat in the chair opposite him, leaning her elbows on his desk. "Let me talk for a minute, to try and tell you what I mean, before we just end up angry at one another."

"All right," Wedge said, sitting back to listen, his fingers laced together over his stomach.

Ajene took a deep breath. "Wedge, when we rescued you from Arramsetti, you were grievously injured. I actually had to stand by and watch you die right in front of me. That affected me in ways for which I wasn't prepared. For a long time after that, I felt very protective of you, wanted to do everything in my power to bring you back to the man you were before...the man I loved. I didn't want anyone to hurt you like that ever again."

She leaned back, rubbing at her temples. "What I didn't realize at the time, but I've come to recognize recently, is that the person who would hurt you the most is someone I can't protect you from--yourself. You're hurting, Wedge, more than you know. You have a great amount of pain and hate in you, and I think it's affecting a lot of your decisions. Tycho's seen it for a while, and he's struggled with what to do about it, because he's not only your friend, but also an officer under your command. I didn't see it before because...well, maybe I didn't want to see it. Maybe I was too close to it. Maybe I'm denying it as much as you are, who knows. Am I making any sense so far?"

Wedge just nodded for her to continue.

She looked at him seriously for a moment, trying to read his emotions though his eyes. He was his usual self, though, locked up tight. "What I'm trying to tell you, Wedge, is that you have to think very carefully about what you're going to do regarding this spy issue. You can't make baseless assumptions about one man because of his past. You didn't about Tycho when you first took him into the Rogues, so don't do it with Thras now, no matter how much you may want to."

Ajene searched Wedge's face again for any sign of anger or distress. She'd told him the truth as she saw it, which she had only just realized herself after a lot of observation and soul searching, and a very long shuttle ride. Wedge was one of the strongest people she had ever met, only one of a thousand things or more that attracted her to him, but he had his weaknesses, just like everyone else. She had refused to acknowledge that at first, but she'd reluctantly been forced to after recent events.

She saw him glance down at the top of his desk, the corners of his mouth turned downwards, pain and sadness in his eyes that he'd let her see only once or twice before. "Jene, I..."

"What is it, Wedge?" she asked gently when his words trailed off to nothing. But when he looked back up at her, his mask was firmly in place once again. Whether he did it consciously or not, she couldn't be sure. Maybe it was just an automated response, borne of years of trying to protect himself from a lot of hurt.

"I'll think about what you've said," he continued with a weak smile. "I'm trying to be as open-minded about this as possible. And Tycho has been doing a very good job of acting as my conscience personified."

Ajene's shoulders slumped. "He shouldn't have to, Wedge. He didn't used to. Can't you see how wrong it is?"

Wedge was saved from having to answer by a tone from his comlink. "Antilles, here."

"Wedge? This is Andel. Can you come to my office as soon as possible? I have news from Fleet Command."

Wedge looked up at Ajene, who sagged back into her chair in defeat. "I'm on my way."


	15. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Wedge and Ajene approached the ramp of the freighter that would carry the Special Forces major and her team to Essen IV, the planet that they hoped to take back from Rozrrom in their most ambitious mission to date.

"I'd really like you to come back in one piece," he told her, his hand slipping into hers. Ajene gave it a squeeze.

"And I expect the same from you and your band of scoundrels." She smiled at him, but there was still a slight hint of tension between them, ever since the conversation they'd had in his office the evening before. She hadn't brought it up again, most likely not wanting to take their attention off the job at hand. He'd been busy preparing for the mission, simming with the four squadrons on board, meeting with Admiral Fedra and the squadron leaders. She'd been at some of those meetings as well, other times planning with her team for their part in the assault. In fact, except for falling into bed together, completely and utterly exhausted, he'd hardly spent any personal time with her at all since their discussion. He was sure, however, that the subject would come up again at the next possible opportunity. Ajene cared too much to let it drop.

Wedge had to reluctantly admit that he hadn't taken her all that seriously at first, which was reason enough for concern. And he'd been extremely relieved when Admiral Fedra had interrupted, so he could avoid thinking about it for another little while. But it floated into his consciousness every now and then, Ajene's voice questioning every decision he made, _forcing_ him to question every decision he made. That had never happened before. He hardly ever had reason to second-guess himself, had made a point of _not _second-guessing himself. He felt especially uneasy at the idea of doubting his gut.

Ajene's lieutenant and right-hand man, Bren Auxil, passed by them, giving the couple a salute that was mostly a wave. All the members of her team had become accustomed to Wedge's presence over the last little while, since he and Ajene were usually together whenever possible. Wedge waved back at him, Ajene smiling, then the lieutenant turned and disappeared up the ramp.

"I guess I'd better go," she said, glancing over her shoulder at the aging ship, then looking back at him. "Don't you be late."

"We won't. You take care of the TIEs in the base, and we'll take care of the rest."

"Wedge..." Ajene started, then stopped herself.

"What?" he asked anyway.

"I was going to ask you to be careful, but I thought better of it," she replied with a smile. "You are a Rogue, after all."

"Better to be lucky than good," Wedge replied with a grin. "But I'll be careful anyway," he said, seizing both of her hands and giving them a reassuring squeeze. "As long as you promise to do the same. I don't think I would be easy to live with if I had to live without you."

Ajene didn't reply. She pulled her hands out of his, snaking her arms around his neck, kissing him with such fierce and desperate passion that it stole his breath away. He moved his hands down to the small of her back, pressing her body up against his, luxuriating in the warmth it brought him. The only time he seemed to be whole was when he was with her. How could he have ever lived without her?

Their lips parted, and they held each other tightly. "I love you, Jene," he whispered into her ear. "Please come back to me."

She pulled back a little, gazing into his eyes, then kissed him one last time before breaking away completely. "I love you too, Wedge," she said, before turning and jogging up the ramp.

"Please come back," Wedge pleaded quietly.

* * * * * * *

Ajene sat in the passenger compartment of the freighter, surrounded by the six other members of her group and their equipment, only minutes into their journey to Essen IV. She knew her mind should be on the mission, going over plans, maps and a thousand other details--her team was going to be infiltrating enemy territory with only each other to rely on, planting explosives and then trying their best to cause chaos and ground some TIEs while the fleet took on Rozrrom's forces in orbit--but every so often, when she was thinking about that plan in her mind, Wedge would work his way into it and take over.

Each time they were separated, it became more heart-wrenching for her. Sneaking into an enemy base in the middle of the night didn't frighten her, but her feelings for Wedge were beginning to. She had never cared this much for anyone before, and that truly terrified her. But she couldn't imagine herself ever loving anyone like she loved him. And she wanted to devote herself to him, to live her life with him, to give herself completely to him. Terrifying indeed!

What was becoming increasingly obvious, though, was the possibility that one of them was going to have to give up their career if they were ever going to truly be together. She knew, however, that Wedge would never willingly leave the Rogues under current circumstances, maybe under _any_ circumstances. That left only one choice: she would have to leave the military, or at least the Special Forces branch of it, sacrificing what had been her way of life for the last eight years. She hadn't really known any other adult life.

It was the fact that she was even willing to consider making any sacrifices at all that had her thinking, and thinking hard. In all of her past relationships, brief as they had been, she had never been willing to give up much of anything, especially her career. Wedge had somehow changed all that. Her eyes lost focus as she thought of him. She could almost feel the touch of his hands on her skin, his mouth caressing her wrist, her neck, especially her lips...

"So, I think that's the best plan after all."

"What is?" Ajene asked, turning to look at Auxil as he folded up his map and tucked it into one of many pockets in his black commando outfit.

"You weren't listening to a word I said, where you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Um...no. Sorry."

"You like him a lot," Auxil said, with a teasing but understanding smile.

"Does it show that much?" Ajene sighed.

Auxil leaned back in his seat, getting comfortable for the seven-hour flight. Although the fleet could make it to Essen in under three hours, the slower freighter lumbered through hyperspace with its ancient light drive. "Yes, it does. But it's not a bad thing, as long as you can keep your mind on your work."

"Obviously I can't, as you just pointed out," Ajene said, pounding her fist off the arm of her chair. "What good am I going to be if all I can think of is my boyfriend?"

"You just left him, of course you're thinking about him. I'm the same way when I leave my wife and daughters. As soon as I get to work, though, I focus on that. You will too."

"Bren, how can you do this for a living and leave a family behind?" Ajene asked, turning more towards him. "Don't you worry about what they'll do should something happen to you?"

Auxil nodded, his eyes closing as he settled in a little more. "Yes, of course I do. I don't fixate on it, though. What purpose would that serve? Besides, I have certain precautions set up in case anything ever does happen to me. Not that I have a death wish or anything, but I mean, how is what I do any different than a pilot, or a law enforcement officer, or even a fire suppression engineer? Besides, it makes going home to my family that much better."

"But _why_ do you do it? Why do you put yourself in harm's way like this when you have so much to live for?" Ajene didn't like the desperation that was creeping into her words, but she had to know. Maybe Auxil could tell her something, anything, to answer the questions that seemed to plague her more and more.

"I make a difference to the future of my kids and other people's kids," he answered, his eyes opening so he could look over at her. "That makes it all worth while for me. What you have to ask yourself, Major, is why _you_ do it. Only you and you alone can answer that question."

Ajene smiled. "Since when are you a philosopher, Bren?"

"I've had a lot of time to think about it on these long trips," he replied, closing his eyes again.


	16. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

Ajene kept to the shadows, watching as the TIE pilots scrambled between their billets and the hangar housing their fighters. She glanced back at Auxil, and he gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. She took the risk of lighting her chrono to read it, then shook her head. It was another thirty minutes before the attack force was even due to arrive in system.

"Two," she whispered. "What do you think?"

Auxil raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. "I don't know. According to all the briefing notes, they don't perform exercises at this time of night, but I suppose it could be a drill of some kind." He didn't sound convinced of that fact, however, and neither was Ajene.

"That or they know we're coming," Ajene voiced the unspoken suggestion. Before Auxil could agree, a siren began to blare, and lights all over the base began to wink on, forcing the two Special Forces operatives further back into the receding shadows in order to remain concealed. Ajene watched around the corner of a building as troops scrambled to their posts, all in full uniform. There was no disorder, no soldiers stumbling out of bed, half-dressed.

"This is not good, Lead," Auxil said, his blaster clearing its holster. "They have to know. They're prepared, they're ready."

"I see it, Two." Ajene un-holstered her own blaster, not sure what their next step should be. It had taken longer than she would have liked to set the charges around the barracks, so they were just about to work on the hangar when they'd been forced to abandon their positions with the movement of the techs and pilots. As they sat and watched, troopers scrambled to their emergency posts, the whine of the TIEs warming up emanating from the hangar. Ajene had to make a decision fast, then act on it, before she and her group were discovered. Or even worse, the TIEs got off the ground. The fleet would be stranded nerfs if the TIEs and goodness knows what else were waiting for them in orbit. Her team had to do their part in cutting down opposition as much as possible for the incoming group.

"Set off the charges in the barracks and signal the rest of the team to move," she ordered Auxil. "Take out as many troopers as you can, then go to plan B. Contact the fleet as soon as they enter the system and give them an update. We may have to go to a plan C and/or get off the planet if they call a retreat."

"Plan C?" Auxil asked. Ajene turned and glared at him. "Right. Come up with a plan C." He pulled out his comlink and contacted the rest of the squad, hiding further back in the trees.

_Wedge, what are you about to stumble into?_ Ajene worried to herself.

* * * * * * *

Corran took one final deep breath, completing his Jedi calming exercise fifteen seconds before the reversion to real space and the battle that awaited them. He hoped that their information was correct, that they would catch Essen IV off-guard. If Rozrrom really was elsewhere, trying to tighten his grip on the handful of systems under his control, maybe there wouldn't be much of a fight. But he had a nagging feeling at the back of his mind that was trying to tell him something. As it had on a couple of other occasions, when...

When we were flying into an ambush!

At that moment, the counter on his primary screen clicked to zero, and Corran pulled his fighter out of lightspeed--right into the middle of a small fleet, including not only _Nefarious_, but _Inferno_ as well.

Wedge reacted faster than Corran thought possible, his voice pouring over the tactical frequency, composed and strong. "Flight Group, come about to heading two-eight-three mark sixteen. Abort mission. Repeat, abort mission. Code word: Dornea. Confirm by Flight leader."

Corran pulled back on his stick, looping up and over on the heading that Wedge had ordered. Ooryl was tucked in behind him, to his right, with Inyri and Myn on his left. "Rogue Three Flight, confirming code word Dornea."

As the rest of the group's flights confirmed the order, Myn contacted Corran on Three Flight's frequency. Because Wedge was in command of four fighter squadrons, they had been instructed to relay information through their flight leaders, then Rogue Control, to avoid any confusion. "Nine, Twelve. We have a squadron of TIEs on intercept from the planet, five squadrons from the Star Destroyer. One minute from first wave's firing range."

"Understood, Twelve. I'll relay that to Rogue Control. Keep your eyes open."

_Blast. We have to cover our capital ships until they can come about and make the jump to lightspeed. Those TIEs will be all over us before we can get out. And _Inferno_ could cause us some real problems if it comes after us._

"Rogue Control, this is Rogue Nine. Seventy-two, seven-two TIEs heading this way. Approximately forty-five seconds until first wave is within firing range of the fleet."

"I see them, Nine. Orders coming through from Flight Leader." Nawara's voice was clipped off as he flicked quickly between frequencies. Wedge's voice was next.

"Rogues, we're going to cover for the fleet and the other fighters while they make a run for it. Split by wingpair and take out any targets of opportunity. Once the fleet jumps, make your own jumps with your wingman as soon as you can. We'll meet at rendezvous point Delta. May the Force be with you."

Corran swallowed hard. It wouldn't be the first time that they had performed rear guard duty, but it usually got messy. He returned to his flight's channel. "Okay, Three Flight, here we go. Good luck and good flying."

* * * * * * *

"Two?" Wedge called.

"Yeah, Lead," Tycho came back immediately.

"We're jumping out last. I don't want anyone left behind."

"Understood, Lead. I'm your wing."

"All right, we're heading straight through the middle. Let's make a hole."

* * * * * * *

Wes Janson fell into a steep dive, spiralling as he went. "You still with me, Six?"

"Of course, Five," came the confident, almost cheery reply.

"Okay, just don't get lost. Remember what I taught you about your left and your right."

There was a bubbling sound over the comm, which Wes now recognized as Hepat's version of a chuckle. "Understood, Five. I will just follow you, if that will serve?"

"Works for me. We're going to teach some pirates that you don't want to corner Rogues...old _or_ new."

* * * * * * *

Hobbie couldn't believe this was happening. _ Again!_

They had been taken by surprise once more and he couldn't help but wonder where or who Rozrrom was getting all his information from, how he knew where they were going to be attacking him, and just how much he was paying for it.

Wedge had brought down all kinds of precautions to try and keep the mission secure, but the one measure he wanted most to implement, a complete comm blackout, had been refused by Fleet Command, deemed as too extreme and inconvenient. So, whoever the spy was, they were still able to send out whatever message it was to give away their plans.

But who would want to give us away, besides...

Thras Nyl interrupted Hobbie's train of thought before he could form any kind of satisfactory answer. "Which way, Four? Through the middle, or are we getting fancy?"

Hobbie considered briefly before responding. "I say through the middle then straight line to our escape vector. What about you?"

"I agree. It should keep them off guard a bit, and we can drop the heavy end of the hammer on them."

Hobbie rolled his eyes. "We're not trying to take them _all_ out in one pass, Three; just stall them long enough for the rest of the fleet to make its escape. Then we go as well." There was only a moments hesitation before Nyl came back.

"Understood, Four. Take the lead."

"Thanks, Three. Let's get in there."

On both sides of his ship, Hobbie saw Rogues dive into the TIEs. _I wonder if I'll lose any friends today_, he thought before he and Thras commenced their attack on their own share of the enemy fighters. _And who I have to thank for it, if I do._

* * * * * * *

Myn Donos jerked his stick to the left to avoid Inyri's fighter. She had moved, unintentionally, directly into his sights in order to dodge an Interceptor coming at her from the right, while a TIE fighter swooped in from the left after Myn. He was caught in a X-wing/TIE sandwich, which was not a place he wanted to be.

As Inyri dropped down below Myn's cross hairs, the two enemy fighters fell in behind them. Green laser fire started to blaze past, some connecting with their shields in a splash of dissipated energy.

"Twelve, on my mark, take yours right," Myn said. "I've got the left."

"Understood, Eleven. Sorry about that."

"No problem. Three. Two. One. Mark!"

Inyri's X-wing made a sharp turn to the right, drawing the Interceptor with her. Myn headed off to the left, performing a barrel role, then a tight turn again, ending up inverted and heading back the way he had come. The TIE was still locked on his exhaust ports.

Donos spotted an X-wing high above and to his left, a TIE in hot pursuit. He glanced quickly at his screen to see who it was. "Rogue Eight, I think we can do one another a favor," he said, swerving to starboard, green laser fire blasting through his shields. Luckily it passed harmlessly between his upper and lower right S-foils before his shields strengthened again.

"Right with you, Eleven," was Ecla's only reply. Myn hoped she was thinking the same thing he was, but there was no time for instructions or questions. He would have to trust her.

As more laser fire exploded around him, Myn pointed his nose away from Essen IV, ninety degrees to his previous course, sending him into a head-to-head run with Ecla. In a matter of seconds they were past one another, and he fired on her trailing fighter, hoping that she was doing the same to the TIE still intent on vaping him.

Myn hit his trigger, then watched the port solar panel sheer off the fighter. The TIE spun end over end, completely out of control, heading out towards deep space. After briefly checking to make sure there were no other ships within his firing range, he shifted in his seat. There was a flash somewhere behind him of a ship exploding, but he couldn't tell if it was Ecla or her TIE.

He glanced at his tactical screen just as the announcement filled his speakers...


	17. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

"Rogue Eight is hit!"

Ecla Idec's ship hurtled towards Essen IV. She tried frantically to gain control as it continued a sickening leftward spin, but she didn't seem to have any command over it. One of the engines whined and there was a loud bang. Half of the lights on her console went dark, and a high pitched screech exploded from Zero, her R-5 droid.

She looked over her shoulder and saw that most of her top port S-foil was missing, the engine a blackened mess. Her comm crackled with a voice, but she couldn't make out who it was or what they were saying, so she ignored it. "Zero, can you help me get any kind of control?"

The screen dedicated to the translation of the droid's statement wasn't working, but Ecla didn't like the tone he was using when he replied. "I guess that's a no, then," she grumbled under her breath. She tightened her grip on the flight stick and fought as it juked back and forth, threatening to toss her to one side of the cockpit, then the other. She felt mildly dizzy, and figured her inertial compensator was probably malfunctioning. _Along with half the systems on this thing_.

The disorientation grew worse as the planet began to fill her entire canopy, rotating at a stomach-lurching pace. By the time she realized that she should have ejected when she had the chance, the dizziness and nausea had grown to the point where she could hardly hold her head straight. She was being pulled closer and closer to the side of the cockpit, her right hand slipping from its grip on the stick. "Zero," she grunted through gritted teeth, "I...have...to..."

Ecla couldn't finish the sentence as gray began to nibble at her sight and consciousness. She struggled one final time to reach for the stick, knowing that her life depended on getting control of the fighter before it careened through the atmosphere like a proton torpedo and crashed onto the surface of the planet.

* * * * * * * *

"Rogue Eight is hit!"

Hobbie heard the announcement over his comm unit, intermingled with the other sounds of the battle. He glanced at his screen, spotting Ecla out at the fringes of the dogfight, heading straight for the planet. He looked up to get a visual fix on her, and saw the tiny outline of her ship as it plunged towards Essen, spinning out of control. _Ecla!!_

"Eight, eject!" he called to her in desperation, but she didn't answer.

_No, no, no!_ He dove to his left, avoiding the fire of the TIE on his tail. "Damn it, Three, where are you?" he yelled into his comm.

"On my way, Four. Had to get rid of an old friend, first." Thras sounded unperturbed by the dogfight taking place around him, as he flew against pilots who may, at one point, have been his comrades to protect people who had surely been his enemy. But Thras wasn't his main worry at the moment. All Hobbie knew was that he wanted to go after Ecla, try and do what he could to steer her clear of the planet before she crashed, or to protect her if she went extra-vehicular. But he reluctantly had to admit that the TIE doggedly following him through all of his evasive manoeuvres, shooting into and weakening his shields, was an _immediate_ concern. No matter how much he wanted to save Ecla, he had to save himself first.

Hobbie inverted and dropped beneath his previous line of flight, keeping his turn sharp. He didn't stay in the turn for long, however, inverting once more and heading off at close to light speed in the opposite direction. He glanced at his screen, and saw that the TIE, even with its greater manoeuvrability and speed, was slow in matching his X-wing's course. _Manoeuvreable fighter, inexperienced pilot_.

As he continued through his manoeuvres, Hobbie tried to keep the Inexorable pilot off-balance, hoping that Nyl would be able to get to him and take the TIE out before it got the drop on him. Hobbie made another course deviation, pushing his body into his pilot's couch as he turned abruptly, heading back towards the battle. To his amazement, the TIE was directly in front of him, coming at him at an incredible speed. The other pilot was either greener than Hobbie thought, or figured that a head-to-head was the only way he could win. Either way, the two fighters would pass one another in a matter of seconds.

Before Hobbie could even begin to think about his next move, though, the TIE erupted into a ball of brief gaseous flame, and he had to jerk his stick to the right to avoid flying right through it. "Three?"

"Got him, Four. Although it looked like you were going to beat me to it for a moment there. Nice flying."

"Thanks, Three." Hobbie turned around and headed back towards the planet again at full throttle, searching his screen for Rogue Eight. He was just in time to see her blip starting to waver as she entered the atmosphere. "Argh, track Rogue Eight's course and tell me where she'll most likely make planet fall."

His droid whistled at him and a short message splashed across his screen. "I don't care about that. Just do what I asked you!"

"Four, where are you going?" Thras Nyl asked, curving back around to join his wingman.

"Get back to the Rogues, Three. Help them wherever you can, then get yourself to the rendezvous point."

"Negative, Four. I'm your wingman. We jump together, remember?"

"Four, what are you doing?" Tycho asked over the comm, his voice strained and angry as he had his own TIEs to deal with, and now a _rogue_ Rogue.

"I think you know, Two."

Wedge didn't sound much happier when he came on. "Turn around now, both of you. That's an order. We need you back here."

Hobbie looked over his shoulder and saw Thras' ship begin a slow turn, heading back towards the fight. _You know, Thras, sometimes you have to think for yourself instead of just blindly following orders._ "Argh, you got those coordinates yet?"

His droid beeped and hooted at him. A series of numbers scrolled across his screen with a message indicating exactly what the little R-2 unit thought of them. "Sorry to drag you into this, pal," was all Hobbie could think to reply as he increased his speed and headed towards the atmosphere.

* * * * * *

Wedge blasted through the fireball that erupted as the TIE's fuel cells were pierced by his lasers. "Damn it! Two, get him back here!"

"Can't, Lead, he already has too big a lead on us. I'd never catch him before he breaches the atmosphere."

"Then we're both going after him," Wedge said, throwing his stick to the left. Gate let out a screech as laser fire pulsed through the area of space they had just occupied.

"I wouldn't recommend that, Lead," Tycho answered after a short delay. Wedge glanced over his shoulder and saw another TIE explode under his wingman's guns. "The more of us that head for the planet, the more of a chance there is that we'd bring a whole bunch of TIEs down with us. Besides, we're the only ones left. The rest of the squad has made their jumps."

Wedge cursed under his breath. _Hobbie, why in the name of the Sith are you doing this to me? You know I won't leave you behind, and from the looks of it, Idec is as good as dead anyway._

Wedge sighed aloud. "Two, try and talk him out of it, then make your run to lightspeed. I have a TIE to deal with."

"And then?"

"And then I'll be right behind you. Four knows what he's doing, I just hope he can do it on his own." Wedge paused, another option occurring to him. "Unless..."

* * * * * *

Just as Hobbie crossed the line between night and day on Essen IV, Tycho was back on the comm. This time the squadron's second-in-command was in no mood to mince words. "Four, don't make me drag you back."

Hobbie had to smile. _You could try..._ "I can't hear you, Two. You're breaking up...atmo-squawk...squawk-ference."

"_Four!_" he heard Tycho yell before he reached out and closed most of the channels on his comm unit, leaving only his direct link to Argh and the emergency frequency open.

"Do you have anything on Ecla?" he asked the silver and white droid. Argh tootled a negative.

Hobbie scanned the horizon as he dropped to near ground level, conscious that the heavy forest speeding past just a couple of meters below him would help him evade any Inexorables who happened to be around, but would also hamper his chances of getting a visual lock on Ecla's location. As it turned out, he wouldn't have to worry about that. Not too far in the distance was a tiny column of smoke, marking the spot where a ship had crash-landed. He kicked his engines back up to full power and headed in that direction, acutely aware that he had to land before he was spotted by their sensors.

As he approached the crash site, Hobbie saw that it wasn't quite as bad as it might have been. It looked like Ecla had managed to gain some control of her ship before impact. Even so, there was a large swath of trees and shrubs that had been torn away or flattened as she levelled out to land. It did provide him a place to set down, should he need to, though.

He brought up his repulsors and hovered over the area. "Argh, you getting any life signs down there?" He watched anxiously as his droid scrolled his answer before him, but it wasn't what he'd hoped. "What do you mean you can't tell?"

Argh was obviously annoyed as he ran off a long series of whistles and beeps. "Okay, I understand that there are a lot of life forms down there...but it's only the human ones I'm interested in."

He looked around carefully for any signs of Inexorables converging on the area, but with the tree cover as thick as it was, ground forces could be on top of him before he knew they were there. He lowered his ship another couple of meters, hovering just under the upper canopy of the trees.

Argh let out a moaning hoot. He couldn't distinguish between human and animal life signs in the densely populated forest, so Hobbie would have to land and search on foot. But then, even if he did find Ecla alive, if her ship was badly enough damaged to burn, they would have to find another way off the planet. It might be possible to fit them both into his cockpit, but it would be an extremely tight squeeze, even though they were both pretty thin. Not to mention he wasn't sure if he would be able to fly with someone sitting on his lap. But if he found her alive, he was willing to give it a try. Stuffing her into the cargo hold just wasn't an option.

"I'm taking her down, Argh. I'll have to search on foot. I want you to keep an open comm with me, in case of trouble. Keep her as ready to go as you can until I tell you otherwise, okay?"

His droid offered a subdued agreement. Hobbie glanced back at him, then started to descend towards the broken patch of ground below. He carefully manoeuvred his ship, managing to tuck it just beneath some overhanging trees a safe distance from Ecla's crashed fighter should fuel cells or unused torpedoes detonate. It also meant Argh and the fighter were partially hidden if any TIEs happened to pass directly overhead. But he also had to be careful not to snag his fighter on any of the broken trees, or he could be stuck on Essen for a very long time.

The X-wing settled onto the ground, a little unevenly because of all the tree stumps and branches, but seemed stable enough for the time being. Hobbie hit the release switch and his canopy began to rise. He left his helmet and life support gear in the cockpit, and kept his gloves, just in case. Unholstering his blaster once he hit the ground, Hobbie surveyed the surrounding area, as well as the sky above him, for any signs of enemy activity.

Hobbie moved over to the cargo hatch in the belly of his fighter, keying the sequence that would unlock and open it. From within he pulled spare power packs for his blaster as well as a camouflaged poncho to put over the top of his garish orange flightsuit. The idea to carry the poncho had been Corran's. He'd been forced to land on a forested planet as well, glad at the time to have been wearing a green flightsuit--the typical orange one would have made him a painfully visible target. So each Rogue had been given a survival pack to carry on each mission, with supplies to help keep them alive until rescue arrived. Although the poncho only covered him from shoulder to thigh, in a forested area he would be able to take some cover by just crouching behind some vegetation, or even just letting the poncho pool around him.

Another reason Hobbie was glad for the poncho was that the air was cold. The planet, despite being heavily forested, was abnormally chilly. For that reason he was also glad he'd kept his gloves. Hobbie switched on and clipped his comlink to his collar. "Can you hear me all right?"

He got a tootle in reply from above him, followed a split second later by an echo through the comlink. "Good. Close the canopy and keep your sensors and scanners operating, passive mode only. With any luck, I'll be back soon."

Hobbie started out across the newly created clearing, searching the area visually as he climbed over and under fallen trees, branches, and other assorted vegetation. He caught himself repeatedly on jagged pieces of wood and bark, ripping at his poncho and flightsuit, the flesh beneath as well; but he kept on, scanning his surroundings as he went, finally making it across the somewhat open ground to the crashed fighter.

One thing was immediately obvious: the X-wing would never fly again. The S-foils on the starboard side had been ripped free from the impact of the skidding crash, leaving a thin blazing trail of fuel in their wake. The nose of the fighter was horribly twisted, and fuel had leaked underneath and around the port engines as well. Most of it had been burned away by the time Hobbie reached it, but some of it still dripped from the tanks.

I'm amazed the whole ship didn't just explode!

As Hobbie approached the front of the wreck, he felt equal parts joy and despair as he saw that the canopy was open, revealing an empty cockpit. The pilot couch was still intact, so she hadn't ejected, but there was a small pool of blood on the fabric. He stepped back, glancing over the ship again, and noticed that her droid was missing as well. Blowing out a frustrated breath, Hobbie turned and scanned his surroundings again, hearing all kinds of unknown animals scurrying around frantically in the brush.

Damn it! Where is she?


	18. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

Ajene hauled Auxil along the ground by his clothing with one hand, blasting away at stormtroopers with the other. She couldn't tell if her lieutenant was dead or alive, and now was not the time to stop and check. Even if he was dead, though, she couldn't leave his body behind to be discovered. Thoughts of his wife and kids flittered through her mind, but she pushed them aside in favor of the task at hand.

What was left of her team began to provide a significant amount of covering fire for her from underneath the Lambda-class shuttle they were about to steal. "Lead, get moving!" someone screamed over the sound of laser bolts ricocheting off the belly of the shuttle. Ajene holstered her blaster, enabling her to use both hands to pull Auxil's motionless and bleeding body. She started to cover the twenty or so meters to the shuttle at a much faster pace, despite being fired upon and having to walk backwards. She lost her footing and fell onto her back, but was quickly on her feet again, grunting with the effort of dragging the dead weight.

A laser blast sizzled past her left arm, singing the fabric and the skin beneath it, forcing a hiss between her teeth, but she kept on moving towards the safety of the shuttle. Her heels caught the edge of the boarding ramp and she started to back up it. Another woman from the team, the group's medic, tucked her blaster into its holster and moved to help Ajene. She called up the ramp, past the rest of the team, that she and Ajene were coming aboard, and a split second later the ramp started to rise.

As the engines of the shuttle hummed to life, Ajene slumped to the deck just behind the open cockpit door. She watched breathlessly as Sirah checked Auxil for a pulse, another team member handing the medic her kit.

"He's alive. And has a strong pulse," Sirah announced while unfastening the top of Auxil's commando outfit, the rest of the team standing around either side of her. "Looks like the wound to his shoulder isn't too serious. Probably no major organ damage. I'll try to stop the bleeding."

Ajene closed her eyes and gave a silent prayer of thanks as the shuttle lurched off the ground. There were dull thumps against the hull, probably the ground forces trying in vain to bring them down with their personal blasters.

"Sit rep," she called breathlessly to the pilot, Reson.

"Heading for atmosphere, no pursuit yet. All the TIEs still seem to be in orbit, though, so we might still have one hell of a fight to get out of here. A thousand meters and climbing."

"Are you okay?" Sirah asked Ajene, nodding towards her injured arm.

"I'll be fine," she answered automatically. "Take care of Auxil." Sirah returned her attention to her patient, knowing that there was no point in arguing with her commander.

At that moment Ajene's comlink beeped. "Ground Team here, go ahead."

"Team Leader, this is Flight Leader."

Worry for Auxil was quickly replaced by anxiety for Wedge. She knew he wouldn't break comm silence unless it was urgent. Not to mention he should have left the system by now, according to the mission parameters from the briefing. "What is it, Lead? Are you all right?"

"I'm about to make my run to lightspeed, but I need to ask a huge favor of you first."

* * * * * * *

Since there'd been no sign of Ecla in the clearing or with her fighter, Hobbie began his search with the ground beyond the X-wing, trying to find any trace of its pilot. However, the heavy vegetation covering the ground had mostly been incinerated when the fuel went up, leaving little or nothing in the way of clues. So he extended the circumference of his search to include the surrounding area, and headed off in the opposite direction of where he had landed, placing Ecla's fighter between him and his own ship. All the while he was conscious that time was running out, for both him and Ecla.

The Inexorable base on Essen was only twenty kilometers away. They would have tracked Ecla's descent, and probably his own, and a search party would be sent out to either kill or capture them. Assuming that Ajene hadn't given them something more immediate to think about.

Ajene and her team were most likely at that moment making their own escape from the planet, if they hadn't jumped out already. Hobbie could try contacting her via her comlink, but a transmission over that kind of distance would give away his position to the Inexorables, and might not even get through. He decided to find Ecla before he took any other kind of action.

Hobbie's feet got tangled up in something and he stumbled, falling to his hands and knees with an "oof". He looked just behind him and saw a glint of metal; it was Zero, or what was left of the poor little droid. Hobbie's feet were caught up in some of the wires trailing from the astromech's innards. From the look of the damage, Hobbie assumed he must have been ejected from the X-wing when it crashed through the trees, and, as with the X-wing, it looked like he would never function again.

Untangling himself and climbing to his feet, Hobbie looked up to where the sky was barely visible through the canopy of trees. It was getting dark quickly, and a couple of stars were beginning to twinkle. Hobbie hoped the rest of the Rogues were okay. They had been massively outgunned, and now they were at least two pilots light. He wondered briefly if Wedge would really leave without him.

They have to go, because they don't have a choice; they'll be killed if they stay.

Hobbie felt a pang of guilt over his actions. He wasn't sure if all the Rogues had made their jumps out of the system or not before he'd gone after Ecla, and he desperately hoped that it hadn't put anyone in danger. Or got them killed.

His thoughts and movement both stopped dead in their tracks as he heard a noise from deeper within the forest. He crouched down, taking cover behind a large bush. Scanning back and forth with his eyes and his blaster, he waited to hear anything else, then waited another dozen heartbeats or so before deciding it was one of the teeming mass of wildlife, and that he needed to keep moving; he would deal with any new threats as they presented themselves. So he rose from behind the bush and continued to slowly survey the area, making sure to keep a sharp eye for any kind of motion and listen for any new sounds. As it got increasingly darker, though, he began to give up hope of ever finding Ecla.

Circling quietly back in the direction of the clearing, he was suddenly struck chest high by a thick branch, knocking him backwards a couple of steps before he lost his footing and landed on his rear end and elbows. Looking up, he could just make out Ecla's silhouette. Her arms were raised above her head, poised to bring her heavy chunk of wood down on his head. "Ecla, it's me!" he hissed breathlessly before she could lash out at him again.

"Hobbie?" She dropped her weapon and knelt beside him. "I didn't realize it was you!"

He could see why she didn't recognize him as she crouched closer to him. She had a large gash across her forehead, immediately above her eyebrows, and blood ran down her face and into her eyes. It looked like she had swiped at it repeatedly, but her eyes had to be stinging and her eyesight blurred quite a bit. And by the look of the cut, she must have hit her head pretty hard to have caused it. There was also blood on her flightsuit from a wound to her left arm.

He scrambled to his knees and rubbed briefly at his chest, then pulled off his gloves and tore off a long strip of cloth from his poncho. He wrapped it tightly around her injured left arm in an attempt to check the stream of blood. He tore off another strip and held it to the gash on her forehead, wiping at the blood on her face with his other hand. "Are you okay?"

"You mean apart from my head spinning, my ship destroyed and being stuck on an enemy world? Yeah, I'm just great," she whispered with a shrug, then winced at the pain cause by the movement. "But you came after me."

"How could I not?" he asked her, brushing some blood soaked hair away from her eyes. "You're a Rogue. And you would have come for me."

She smiled slightly, but it quickly faded. Hobbie realized that she was shivering--from the cold, from shock, probably both. He pulled off his poncho and put it over her head. It was dark enough now, especially this deep in the forest, that even the glaring orange of his outfit was hard to see. "Do you think you're well enough to get back to my ship and squeeze into my cockpit with me?" he asked, aware of how absurd the question sounded when he said it aloud.

"I...I think so." She tried to stand, using his shoulder to push off from, but her legs wobbled under her. He swooped up his gloves as he stood, slightly bent at the waist, and slung her right arm around his shoulders. It was completely dark now, the sun having set faster than any other in Hobbie's experience, due to the speedy orbit of the planet. He had landed probably only thirty minutes before, and it had been daylight. Now he had to not only support some of Ecla's weight, but also carefully pick his way through broken forest. It'd been difficult enough when he could see, now it would be nearly impossible. And animals that had been spooked by the crash were starting to regain their courage. Who knew what was lurking in the dark.

They made it past her wrecked ship and into the clearing before he heard the distinct sound of TIEs somewhere in the distance. He tried to hasten their pace, but it was rough going. He'd intended to move through the clearing, taking a direct line to his ship--it was more uneven ground, but they at least would have light from the twin moons to navigate by--but with the possibility of TIEs coming down on them, he moved to his left, taking them into the cover provided by the forest.

Ecla was weakening, leaning even more heavily on him than before. Hobbie set her down on a log for a moment, letting both of them catch their breath. He listened carefully for the TIEs, trying to decide which direction they were coming from. He assumed it would be from the direction of the base, but if they were coming in from space, it could be from anywhere. The sound echoed amongst the trees, making it hopeless to guess where and how many they were.

Hobbie looked at Ecla as she finally seemed to get herself together. He was amazed at how calm she remained, despite their situation. "We have to keep moving. If we get trapped on the ground, we'll never get out of here."

"I know, I know," she said, taking his hand as he helped her to her feet and leaned on him again. "Let's move."

Although it was almost pitch black within the trees, they still managed to make decent progress. "Argh, we're on our way back. About twenty meters from you. Start the preflight sequence and warm up the engines."

There was a trio of beeps to acknowledge the order, and the hum of the X-wing's engines could be heard throughout the area. "Not too far now, Ecla, then we'll be out of here."

She laughed a little. "Sure. And how many TIEs and other ships do you think we'll have to fight our way past before you can make the run to lightspeed? All with me sitting in your lap."

"I can think of worse ways to go," he said, just as they turned towards the clearing. His ship was about ten meters from where they stood. In the distance, he could make out the searchlights of the approaching TIE fighters. There was also a new and much closer sound echoing above the hum of the fighter's engines.

_Speeder bikes!_

"Come on," he urged Ecla, pulling her along with him. She tripped over a tree branch, threatening to send both of them crashing to the ground. Hobbie caught a fallen tree trunk with one hand, keeping his feet. He bent at the waist and gathered Ecla up in his arms, stumbling the rest of the way to his ship. Argh let out a series of hurried tones, evidently as aware of the approach of the enemy as Hobbie was. The canopy began to rise as the pair reached the side of the ship.

He set Ecla back onto her feet, glancing over his shoulder as the first of three speeder bikes entered the clearing, thankfully at the far side. "I'll get in first, then help you up." He released her and she held onto the lower S-foil with one hand, pulling off the poncho and her life support gear with the other.

Hobbie clambered up to and over the edge of his cockpit. He threw his own life support equipment over the other side, figuring that if he went EV he would be as good as dead, and so would Ecla. They needed all the space they could get in his cockpit, anyway. He jammed his helmet onto his head, leaned over the edge again, grasped both of Ecla's hands in his, and hauled her up towards him. She made a face, the pulling causing her a considerable amount of pain to her injured arm. As he continued to pull her up, the first blaster bolts from the approaching stormtroopers began to connect with the far side of his fighter.

Argh let out a horrified screech just as Ecla scrambled over the side of the cockpit. She and Hobbie collapsed onto his pilot's couch together, a jumble of arms and legs in a space meant for one. Argh began to close the canopy and Hobbie hurriedly shifted his position, trying to attach his own restraining straps, then moving Ecla to sit between his legs while they still had enough space to move. But there wasn't quite enough room for her, so she ended up sitting somewhat on his thighs, the rest of her suspended in mid-air between his legs. Unfortunately, because she was so high up, her head partially obscured his view.

"Move your head. I can't see!"

She shifted her position, her head leaning awkwardly back on his left shoulder. It was probably an uncomfortable position for her to hold, especially wounded, but it couldn't be helped. His own legs had to reach around hers to get to the rudder pedals, even though she'd tucked her knees up as far as she could to give him some more legroom. He tried to move the stick back and forth, but now her knees were in the way. He moved his legs to the side as much as he could. "You'll have to keep your knees pretty far apart, or there won't be enough room to manoeuvre."

Ecla did as he said, as quickly as she could, as the troopers on the speeder bikes were now close enough to take accurate shots at them. Hobbie skipped most of the preflight sequence, hitting some buttons on his right. The engines and repulsorlifts hummed to life, and he stretched both his arms around Ecla to blindly grasp the flight stick and have access to the controls. She kept her arms folded across her stomach, giving Hobbie as much room as she could. _It's a good thing she's a pilot. She knows what I need to do, when I need to do it, and can move accordingly. Too bad there isn't enough room for her to take the stick._

He flicked a couple of switches, and the fighter lurched a meter off the ground. He felt Ecla stiffen. "Hobbie!"

He glanced around the side of her head and saw the three speeder bikes were racing towards them, intent on stopping them from lifting off. "Hold tight...this could get rough." She nodded and braced herself along the bottom of his transparisteel cockpit. It was the only way she could hold on, because if she restricted his movements too much, or obstructed his line of sight, it would get them both killed.

Using his rudder pedals, Hobbie swiveled the fighter around, turning to face the oncoming bikes, and brought up his HUD. He touched the left rudder peddle a little more to bring his target into the center of his cross-hairs, then squeezed the trigger. Red lasers exploded out of the tips of the S-foils, all four cannons firing at once. They incinerated the lead speeder bike and its rider, leaving nothing but molten metal and burning vegetation behind. The other two bikes made sharp turns in an attempt to stay out from under Hobbie's guns, but as long as they weren't paying any attention to him, he wasn't at all interested in them. He tilted the nose of the fighter skywards and kicked in his four fusial-thrust engines. A cloud of dust and leaves erupted beneath them as the ship leapt above the level of the trees. Ecla was pushed into his body as his inertial compensator was momentarily overcome by the sudden acceleration and having to compensate for nearly double the body mass.

As they escaped the cover of the forest, Hobbie spotted the running lights for a quartet of TIEs, heading in from planetary south on an intercept course. "Uh oh."

"Six more from the north," Ecla added as the X-wing screamed for orbit like a startled mynock.

"I think we're in trouble," Hobbie said, a resigned tone to his voice. He reached over his right shoulder and hit the switch to split the fighter's S-foils into attack formation.

"Head for orbit as fast as you can," Ecla said over the roar of the fighter's engines. "Then make the run to lightspeed as soon as possible."

Argh tootled something from his slot behind Hobbie, but the pilot couldn't see the screen. "What's he saying?"

"According to him, the TIEs will be on us before we even leave the atmosphere. And there are two more heading straight for us from the east. I think the secret's out."

Hobbie let out a long sigh. "Sorry, this isn't quite the rescue I had in mind."

He felt more than heard a snort. "S'okay. This isn't the way I thought I'd be spending my evening, either."

The TIEs were catching up to them and Hobbie used his thumb to flick from quad to dual fire. It was a good thing he could do most of this in his sleep, because for the moment he couldn't see the flight stick. "So, do we stay and fight, or get caught running?"

"Run, Hobbie. It's the only chance we have."

Hobbie didn't say anything—he didn't have to. They both knew that the way things were, they would never make it out of the atmosphere. He glanced at his partially-obscured tactical screen as the TIEs crept up behind them. It would be another minute before they would break through into space, but most of the TIEs would be within firing range in under thirty seconds. "Argh, start preliminary calculations for a jump, any heading. Let me know as soon as we're clear to lightspeed."

Ecla leaned forward a little and turned her head to look at him. "Hobbie, I--" His X-wing jarred suddenly as a TIE got off a lucky shot from just outside its optimum firing range. Ecla braced herself again and kept quiet, letting him concentrate on his work, trying desperately to keep out of his way in the tiny cockpit.

Hobbie started going evasive, attempting to keep out of the way of the TIEs while simultaneously trying to make a straight line towards the freedom of space. It wasn't an easy task, forcing some of his manoeuvres to become predictable. Not to mention that he was trying to do it with another pilot sitting in his lap. Ecla's hair, which had slipped out of its ponytail in places, was starting to tickle his nose, another annoying distraction.

"Get your hair out of my face," he said, swerving to avoid another burst of fire form the pursuing TIEs. The lasers of the pursuing ships kept at Hobbie's shields, threatening to overload them. More and more alarms started to sound as text began to scroll across the diagnostics screen. Argh let out a warbled warning just before the shields finally yielded and flared out of existence.

As Ecla slid her right hand up in front of her to try and move her hair, Hobbie threw the fighter to the left, narrowly missing the green laser fire that was erupting all around him. Ecla was thrown roughly to the right side of the cockpit--the compensator must have been hit--and she blocked his view for a few precious seconds. "Ecla!"

"I'm sorry!" she retorted, moving back to her left. Her hair was more under control, but she was still being tossed about the cockpit like a stuffed Ewok.

A shock wave pounded the fighter, and Hobbie thought they were dead for sure. But a glance over his shoulder showed a rapidly expanding ball of flame and gasses where the closest TIE had been. "Ecla, hit the comm unit."

She ran her fingers over the familiar switches, hitting a couple of buttons, and Hobbie was suddenly deafened by a woman's voice. "...about to heading three-eight-four mark two and we'll cover for you while you make your run. Can you hear me, Rogue X-wing? Please respond."

Hobbie couldn't believe his ears. "Ajene, is that you?"

There was a pause before the Special Forces Major spoke. "Yes. Rogue Leader thought you could use a hand. Something about you being able to find your way into trouble, but not being able to find your way out. Although he didn't use words quite as polite as that. Are you okay?"

"We're fine, but not much else is at this point. Where are you? Scanners are out."

"We stole a Lamb and are about two and a half klicks behind you. We can cover for you while you—" There was a sudden pause. "Wait, are you both in there? How can you--" she began to ask in a baffled tone, before Hobbie cut her off.

"It's a long story that I hope we live long enough to tell you. We're heading for space now. And thanks, Ajene."

"If I let you get killed, Rogue Leader wouldn't talk to me for weeks. Get a move on, cause we're right behind you, and the TIEs are thinking twice about taking us on. See you at the rendezvous point."

"We're on our way. Four, out."

Just as they passed through Essen's atmosphere, Argh announced that their shields were back up.

"Well, better late than never," Hobbie said wryly.

* * * * * * *

Wedge climbed down the ladder leaning up against his X-wing and just stood at the bottom, his hands balled into fists, seething with anger. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this frustrated. Not only had the mission been betrayed by someone, _again_, but Wedge had left two of his pilots behind. Not to mention Ajene.

He walked over to a small storage container and kicked it several meters across _Starlight's_ hangar. Unfortunately it didn't ease his frustration, only hurt his foot and dented the container.

"You going to do that to Hobbie when he gets back?" Tycho asked, coming around the scarred nose of Wedge's fighter.

"I'll do worse than that if he makes it back alive. What the _hell_ was he thinking?! It's not bad enough that we lose Idec, but him as well?!"

"Wedge, he's sweet on her. He couldn't leave her behind any more than--"

"Any more than I could _ask _Ajene to staybehind?" Wedge cut him off. "Well, I did that too, _didn't I!_"

Tycho sighed as he watched Wedge stalk across the hangar.

* * * * * * *

As bad as the situation had been on the planet, it got decidedly worse when Hobbie and Ecla broke through into space. As Hobbie tried to clear the planet's mass shadow, waiting for jump coordinates from Argh, he brought the nose of his fighter around and looked down the throat of a Star Destroyer.

It was _Nefarious_, the ship that had ambushed them earlier. Hobbie would have laughed, had it been funny, when he saw the TIEs who were making their approach to her hangars abort and turn towards him in waves. His half-restored sensors showed that there were five full squadrons of them, buzzing about like angry insects. _Only five? I guess the rest of the Rogues did pretty well for themselves before leaving! Still..._

"This could be tricky," he grumbled. Ecla shifted forward just enough to look at him sidelong with a raised eyebrow, then resumed her position. "Argh, is Ajene's shuttle still behind us somewhere?"

His droid tootled, and he understood without having to look at the translation screen that the answer was yes. "How far back is she? Can she catch up to us before we hit the TIEs?"

"Six klicks back, so no," Ecla read off the screen for him.

"Sithspit. Okay, time for some fancy flying. Argh, divert power from everywhere except life support to the engines and shields. That includes the laser cannons." He put one of his gloved hands on Ecla's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "We're going to have to make a break for it. With power diverted, the compensator might not be as efficient as I'd like, assuming it's at full capacity to begin with. You're really gonna have to hold on tight."

Ecla glanced briefly over her shoulder at him and nodded. She hunkered down a little further, giving his arms a bit more room to reach the controls. She lay her chin on her chest, giving him a decent view out all sides of the cockpit. She glued her arms to her side as she gripped at the fabric of his flightsuit on either side of his thighs. Nails dug into his skin, but Hobbie didn't complain. "Ten seconds until we're within their maximum firing range. Here we go."

Five seconds before the timer on his HUD reached zero, the TIEs opened fire. He shoved the stick hard to starboard, sending his fighter into a violent spin, silently asking the Force to keep him from inadvertently sending them into a laser blast. He inverted and headed high, still spinning, passing above the first wave of TIEs without firing a single shot.

Hobbie felt Ecla move away from him then get pushed back into his body with each dive and ascent. She clung fiercely to his legs, refusing to be flung up against the sides or canopy of the cockpit as he spiralled past fighter after enemy fighter. He knew it had to be extremely uncomfortable, even painful for her, but he couldn't stop the fighter's movement for a second, knowing it was only a matter of time before the TIE's lasers drove through his weakened shields and blew them both to bits. He had to make sure that he wasn't an easy target, so he kept spinning, abruptly changing directions every few seconds. All the while he headed in the general direction that Argh indicated, towards the area of space from where they could safely launch into hyperspace.

The fighter rocked as a laser blast pierced the shields and scored a direct hit somewhere on the hull. Sparks erupted from his comm unit and some of his secondary screens as the shields grew increasingly opaque, glowing greens and purples. His diagnostic readings flashed by in blood red letters again, telling him what he already knew. They wouldn't make it through the last wave of TIEs. Not in the condition they were in. One more direct hit and there would be two more names to add to the lengthy list of dead Rogues.

Hobbie saw a movement out of the corner of his eye, and Ajene's shuttle flashed past him, placing itself between Hobbie and the last wave of TIE's--with all of his wild manoeuvres, they'd managed to catch up with him. Hobbie tried his best to follow in the wake of the shuttle, using it as a set of forward shields as it cleared a small path to freedom. TIE interceptors and fighters converged behind him, spitting fire over his aft shields. "Just hold a little longer," he muttered. "Please, just a little luck for once."

Ecla glanced over her right shoulder and drew in a sharp breath. Hobbie instinctively dove just as green laser fire crossed just over the top of his canopy, casting a brief green glow over them. Ecla lifted off his lap for a second again before being pressed back into him as he spun and climbed up, back onto his original course. He continued to increase and decrease his speed to keep the TIEs from predicting where he would be from one moment to the next. He reached around Ecla awkwardly, hitting switches here and there, keeping an eye on the shuttle in front of him, his tactical screen, noting which systems were and weren't working, while mentally keeping track of the TIEs as best he could. "Argh, how long 'til we clear Essen's mass?"

The R-2 displayed a twenty-second countdown on his main tactical screen, constantly revising it because of the rapid course corrections and speed adjustments. Hobbie tried his comm unit, wanting to get in contact with Ajene, but it didn't seem to be working that well, since buttons were flashing on and off at seemingly random intervals. He transmitted anyway, just in case he could send but not receive. "Shuttle, this is Rogue Four...and Eight. We're almost out of Essen's mass shadow and beginning our run to lightspeed. Our thanks and see you at the rendezvous."

He closed down the rest of the comm unit, except his link with Argh. "Assuming the hyperdrive still works," he groused quietly, wishing he hadn't even thought about it.

The ship rocked again as a near miss blasted past his upper starboard S-foil. "Argh, push all available power into the engines and shields, including life support, until we make our jump. Give it everything you've got!" He gritted his teeth and rolled hard to port, taking him out of the way of the shuttle, which was still blasting away at TIEs with impressive accuracy as the small fighters continued to swarm around it, closing in for the kill.

Hobbie reached out to his left, grasping for the hyperdrive lever. "Please," he begged to no one in particular, "just let it work."

He threw the lever, and with a blinding flash of light, Hobbie and Ecla jumped to the relative safety of lightspeed.


	19. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

After completing their thirty-second micro-jump out of the system, Hobbie and Ecla came out of hyperspace in the middle of nowhere, Essen's star just a bright glow of light somewhere behind them. While Argh plotted the next leg of the trip back to their rendezvous point, Ecla tried to make herself a little bit more comfortable. It required a bit of movement and coordination on both their parts, but eventually she was able to find a little space to stretch, before settling down on his lap again.

Hobbie removed his gloves and shoved them between his seat and the panel to his left. He shifted his legs slightly beneath Ecla, trying to find a more comfortable position of his own. He also found the silence a little uncomfortable. He wasn't sure what to say to her. Ecla smiled over her shoulder at him as he moved behind her and his face flushed with heat.

"Uh...Kinda cramped in here, isn't it?" he said, silently berating himself for stating the obvious.

"Rather be here than in a holding cell. Or dead."

"You have a point there. Are you feeling okay? How's your head?"

"Pounding nicely, thanks. Especially after that wild ride." She reached up with her hand to tentatively touch the gash on her forehead, which had finally stopped bleeding. "By the way, that was the best evasive flying I have ever seen."

Hobbie managed a smile. "Thanks, but we got lucky, that's all." He leaned to his left and saw that the cloth tied around her arm to stop the bleeding has been shoved further down her arm with all of the movements during the battle. He loosened it to move it back up, and she gasped and bit her lower lip as a piece of the fabric caught, pulling at the torn flesh. "Sorry," he murmured, getting the makeshift bandage back in place.

"S'okay," she replied, releasing her bottom lip as she twisted, managing to partially face him.

Hobbie raised his left hand and wiped away the tear starting to roll down her cheek with his thumb. He fingered the contours of her face, a face lingering close to his own. He could feel her breath warming his cheeks every time she exhaled, and he found himself waiting for each breath. _Get a grip_, he thought. _It's the after effects of the rescue. All that adrenaline..._ But he couldn't help it. Here, in the tiny confines of the cockpit, he felt closer to her than he'd been to anyone in a long time. He wanted to be with her more than anything else at that moment.

He remembered that his hand was still on her cheek, but was reluctant to remove it. With or without conscious thought, he couldn't be sure, it slipped down to her shoulder. Her hand moved up his arm. Slowly, he pulled her towards him, her lips tantalizingly close to his...

Argh blatted at Hobbie, startling him. Ecla pulled away and untwisted to face the nose of the fighter, studiously watching the main screen. "What is it, Argh?" Hobbie sighed, trying to gain control of the heat that had begun to pulse through his body. The droid hooted a curt response, which he could just read over Ecla's shoulder. "All right, bringing us around."

Reaching around his fellow Rogue, Hobbie took the flight stick and proceeded to make his run to lightspeed. Funny how the stick felt different in his bare hands.

Ecla leaned against him again, the back of her head leaning against his left shoulder. As he leaned forward to look at the readings scrolling across his tactical screen, her hair brushed against the bare skin of his cheek. By the time the stars elongated into the long tunnel of hyperspace, Ecla had fallen asleep is his arms.

Hobbie sighed contentedly, wrapping his arms around her waist, and settled in for the hour-long flight.

* * * * * *

Hobbie was startled awake by Argh's loud whistling. He felt a weight leaning against him and it took a couple of heartbeats to remember that it was Ecla. Then he remembered where he was.

"What is it, Argh? Are we coming out of hyperspace soon?"

His droid whistled an affirmative, doubling the size of the numbers slowly scrolling towards zero on the main screen. Hobbie shook his head to clear it, and waited to release the hyperdrive and cut in the sublight engines.

The tunnel of swirling light before him collapsed as they returned to normal space in the Noadd System. To his right was their small fleet, waiting at the rendezvous point. Since his comm unit wasn't working, he would have to rely on Argh to contact fleet control. "Argh, use your comm gear to get in touch with control and ask for permission to land as soon as possible. I'll get us as close as I can so you can reach them. Tell them there are two of us on board and one needs medical attention."

"Hmph...medical attention," Ecla mumbled, sitting up a little. Hobbie noticed from her profile as she glanced around that she was paler than before, her eyes still cloudy from sleep. "I think I need a whole new head."

Hobbie chuckled, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear without even stopping to think about it first. "We'll get you fixed up, good as new. I know for a fact that _Starlight_ carries top quality bacta." He moved the X-wing towards the Mon Calamari cruiser, cautiously since his IFF was among the many systems still malfunctioning. His lower starboard engine was fluctuating wildly so he shut it down altogether, adjusting the power flow to the remaining three engines to compensate.

Argh tootled and beeped, instructions for landing scrolling across the screen. Hobbie turned the nose of his fighter towards the cruiser, and began his approach to its main hangar. Ecla leaned heavily against him, and he couldn't tell if she was still awake or not. All he knew was that his legs had gone pretty numb from lack of movement over the last hour, and he was looking forward to stretching them out. Although, he realized with a touch of embarrassment, he didn't really want to separate himself from Ecla.

He tried to push that thought aside and keep his eye on the hangar as it loomed up before him. The small fighter passed through the magnetic containment field, and Hobbie cut in his repulsors, decreasing the power to the three remaining engines. He hovered for a moment, making sure the repulsor coils were still in working order, then moved slowly forward, towards the area set aside for him. A tech on the left side waved glowing sticks, directing him to his landing spot. There were emergency personnel spread throughout the hangar, waiting for the two stragglers and the obviously impaired craft.

As his fighter settled to the deck with little more than a shudder, Hobbie saw Wedge and Tycho make their way towards him from where they had been standing to one side. He already knew that he was going to get in trouble; he'd disobeyed a direct order from not only one, but two superior officers. But Ecla was safe and alive, and strangely that was all that mattered to him at the moment. He'd take whatever punishment came because of his actions.

The canopy cracked and hissed as it opened, sending cool air flowing over Hobbie. "Ecla?" he said, giving her a slight shake. She sat up slowly, glancing around groggily. Her head drooped again, and Hobbie held her upright. There was a thud as a set of stairs with a small platform at the top made contact with the side of his ship. A medtech clambered up, knelt on the platform, and helped support Ecla. Techs and fire control personnel moved over the rest of his ship, spraying fire suppression liquid onto the smoking engine he'd been forced to shut down.

"I think she got a pretty nasty knock on the head and her left arm is injured," Hobbie told the medtech as he helped lift her from the cockpit. Other medics gathered around with a repulsor bed and other various pieces of equipment, ready to take her to the medical bay.

Hobbie pulled off his helmet and let it drop towards his feet. He placed a hand on either side of the cockpit and levered himself up. Although a little unsteady, his legs took his weight. He inhaled a deep breath and clambered over the side and down the ladder, every step tingling agony as the circulation started to return.

Wedge and Tycho were waiting for him, arms folded across their chests.

* * * * * * * *

"Upset? Of course I'm _upset!"_ Rozrrom thundered, his voice magnified and echoed a dozen times by the acoustics of the cave-office. Larrdin sank a little lower into his seat.

"But sir, we did manage to--"

"If you value your life, you will not complete that sentence." Rozrrom held up a weary hand, then blew out a long sigh. "We were going to get them this time, Gherr. This was supposed to be the day Iwiped out Rogue Squadron. Why didn't that happen, hmm? Tell me why that didn't happen."

"Um, well..." Larrdin went through several possible answers in his head, pretty sure that all of them could get him shot. "Sir, they fled before your mighty display of power, like children afraid of--"

"Don't make me kill you instead, Gherr," Rozrrom warned sternly. He picked up a knife that had been sitting on his desk, the very one that Rends had been forced to sever his own ear with. It was still crusted with blood.

"Sir, I don't know why you didn't get to crush Rogue Squadron," he finally said. If Rozrrom really had his heart set on killing him, nothing he said now would prevent that.

"Finally, an honest answer," Rozrrom replied, stabbing the point of the blade into the surface of his desk. "I'm not sure I know what happened, either. There was obviously at least one team on the ground, which caused considerable damage to the base, but without significant military losses. My guess is that they would have been much more of a hindrance if given more time. It was also obvious that the fleet hoped, as our spy told us, to catch us off guard here. Hmm..."

"Sir?" Larrdin asked, when Rozrrom remained silent.

"I can't help but think we would have been much better off if _Querulous_ had been with us," he finally said, and Larrdin thought he looked almost...sad. Rozrrom didn't like to lose, and for him, this was very much a loss. That's why he had invited Larrdin into his office... He could console.

"Sir, need I point out that most of _Querulous's _TIEs were with us? If the fleet and Rogue Squadron had been determined to flee, they would have fled regardless."

Rozrrom nodded, but still looked dejected. "Yes, I suppose. But I can't help but feel that I made a tactical mistake by not having her here with us."

Larrdin shrugged slightly. "_Querulous_ needs the repairs she's undergoing, sir. Not to mention that the forces we had were sufficient for the task. Also, we learned something about their tactics today, which we can apply to future battles. And, sir, I also needn't have to point out that fifteen of their craft were destroyed, as well as the fact that we still hold Essen IV. Not to mention that we ambushed them _again_. That has to reek havoc with their morale." He smiled, a predatory one. "They'll spend more time looking for that spy than planning what to do with us, sir. You can take advantage of that."

Rozrrom smiled, an echo of his Colonel's. "We'll crush them yet, Gherr. From outside _or_ inside..."


End file.
